Somewhat composed, for a lunatic, Mortimer smeared the entrails like a paintbrush, up and down his priestly garb. “Years ago, we implemented a rectifying plan. By breeding our invincible natures with humans, half-demon and half-human.” Full of pride, he tacked his eyes on her. “A resurgence of an animalistic army to rule the world.”
The smell of death saturated Seeley’s senses as she attempted to keep down her breakfast and shifted her gaze to her husband’s poignant eyes. Rendered weak, he budged and dislodged an arm trapped beneath him, his fingers groping for her. Without hesitation, she bowed over his chest and molded her mouth to his bloody lips. Their mouths fused for a brief second, realizing it might be their final kiss.
“How grossly touching,” Mortimer purred. He banged his foot on the floor, interrupting their kiss. “The Order granted me a grand undertaking, and I’ll be greatly rewarded. The mingling of an extraordinary human with a potent spirit. At last, the time has come for accomplishing my assignment.” He raised his arm and commanded his minions with a brusque finger gesture.
Devilish legions clambered forward and seized Seeley. Declan managed to brace himself upward, only to be beaten down again, leaving the five demons to grapple with her. Before they could incapacitate her, she administered a lethal blow to the throat of a she-devil. The demons slammed her body over a wooden table, knocking the wind from her lungs. They restrained her arms and legs.
Momentarily stopping, she struggled to catch her breath, and wailed, “Ezekiel!”
Mortimer grabbed a bowl off a small side table and strode to Declan. From somewhere inside his frock, the priest drew a knife, punctured Declan’s limp hand, and let his blood drain into the bowl. Mortimer then stepped back to the side table and set the bowl in the midst of flaming candles, adding fragments of bone chips and spices to the fluid. As he uttered a throaty mantra, the particles intermingled with the bubbling blood and issued forth a strange reddish vapor.
His continual, hellish refrain scraped through Seeley’s veins, revolting her. The atmosphere thickened along with the red vapor.
“Pregnosa . . . inflatatum . . . demonsecteri . . . pregnosa . . .” Mortimer eyed the soaring wraith and said, “Quickly. Now!”
Seeley stared, terrified. Engorged with each evil word, the wraith plunged. Not to her, but to Declan.
The wraith bombarded her husband and melted into his unconscious body. Seeley felt helpless, witnessing the internal battle raging as Declan’s body shuddered, rebuffing the wraith.
Her heart-wrenching plea rocked the ramshackle building. “No-o-o . . .” Declan’s frame lurched from side to side. “Declan, Declan!” she cried. “Stop!”
Despite his forceful attempts to disengage the wraith, his body appeared to mellow and succumb. He bolted upright and peered at his hands in fascination, furling and unfurling his fingers, as if seeing his appendages for the first time. With an aberrant jerk, he faced Seeley. Tainted scarlet eyes fastened on her. His head kinked unnaturally and his lips parted, flicking out a juicy tongue.
“Declan, I know you’re in there. Declan, please fight it.”
The intensity of his wicked expression horrified her. The sinister being had possessed her husband, and Declan gradually rose as if the wraith was pulling his strings.
She realized it was no ordinary wraith and fought to free herself from the legion’s hold. She spied the clergyman, Mortimer, standing off to the side, monitoring the wraith in awe.
The beast in Declan crept menacingly closer.
“Ezekiel!” Seeley’s bloodcurdling cry divided the reddish vapor.
The building began to quake, heaving the floorboards.
“Hurry! We must accomplish the deed,” the freakish priest grated hungrily through his thickened throat.
Legions ripped at her clothing. Declan, or rather the wraith, was upon her. “Declan, please come back. Fight, Declan, fight.”
His bloody face and bloated lips were inches from hers. She noticed the flitting struggle in his eyes, pupils varying from red to black, and his irises changing from red to blue. While Mortimer’s dramatic shrieks to hurry and complete the task played in the background, Declan’s body swayed indecisively as the wraith fought for control.
A gasping mouthful of air blew into her ear. “S-e-e-l-e- y…”
She screamed as he crudely overshadowed her.
AFTER A HURRICANE
COMES A RAINBOW
THE ANGELS’ EXPLOSIVE entrance dispersed the confused legions as they exterminated them one by one. In the interim, Father James had tackled his possessed friend and splashed holy water on the soulless Mortimer. Wobbling and repugnant, the wicked spirit gushed like a geyser from the priest’s body.
Ezekiel’s gleaming crystal sword was pointed at Declan’s throat.
“No!” Seeley yelped. “He can be saved.” Gathering her torn clothing about her, she sought Zeke’s cutting gaze. “Please, Zeke. Father James can perform the exorcism.”
“Markus,” Ezekiel said to his brother angel. “Over here.”
Fast and incisive, Markus clutched Declan’s arms, leashing them behind his back.
With his sword still pointed at Declan’s throat, Ezekiel nodded. “Father James, you’re needed.”
With a sweep of his cassock, the priest stood before them ready for battle.
Seeley’s legs barely supported her, forcing her to brace herself on the wall. Linking her arms over her waist, she observed the macabre expressions on her husband’s face. Father James poured blessed salt on the floorboards, encaging Declan along with the angels. Markus continued to hold him with Ezekiel’s blade still under Declan’s throat.
The priest crammed a hand into the pocket of his cassock and withdrew a bottle. He dosed Declan with holy water while praying in Latin. The beast within screamed as his skin sizzled and smoked as if it were on fire.
Father James brandished a St. Benedict crucifix toward the roaring beast. In a stouthearted voice, commanded the expulsion of the invading wraith. Declan’s mouth twisted and his neck dropped to one side. His head seemed to be disjointing from his shoulders.
The wraith spoke through Declan, “It’s only a matter of time before I come for you, Jim-m-m …. You ignorant imbecile, you’re only a pathetic human,” he blasphemed, rebuking the priest’s interference. “No one can shackle Lucifer. Earth is destined as the legions’ playground.”
Rankling, ghoulish laughter grated the length of Seeley’s spine. In anger, her fist bashed the wooden wall.
Father James invoked the Holy Spirit to wrought vengeance upon the creature as Declan’s body shape-shifted into numerous maniacal entities. The priest pressed his eyelids disregarding the grueling deformities, which were meant for his benefit. Dispensing more holy water, and with the angel’s aid, they chanted divine exhortations to expel the wraith.
“You’re killing the man, not me,” the wraith taunted in a croaky voice.
It seemed like an eternity, and grimacing at the inexplicable sight, Seeley doubted Declan would make it out alive. The disconcerting exorcism appeared to drain the priest. He slouched as his voice crackled—losing its dominance.
Quieting, Father James closed his eyes and his head sagged. Even the wraith became scarily silent. It appeared that the priest grew in stature and glowed. To Seeley, it was as if he was making a final stand. Somewhere from within, the retiring priest seemed to draw on wells of strength. Seeming more resilient, he again recited holy supplications to exile the plaguing entity. In an outrageous show of contempt, the implacable wraith fled, leaving behind a withered body.
Declan crumbled, and Markus collected him in a sturdy embrace, lowering him to the ground.
Seeley charged, dropping to the floor. She placed her hands on either side of his face. “He’s breathing,” she whispered and rubbed her cheek against his, hugging him.
Ezekiel then aided a listless Father James to a rickety chair.
A WEEK AFTER Their hellish retreat, Seeley relaxed on her parent’s front
porch in the quaint village of Elma sipping ice tea with her teenage daughter. The day was a mixture of bright sunshine and fluffy clouds. Singing birds and light breezes were in perfect contrast to their previous nightmare in Sherando.
Seeley narrated the inhuman ambush in soft tones, omitting one squalid detail. The story drained her energy as she viewed the play of emotions on her daughter’s face.
Jordan’s eyes twitched. She seemed unnerved as she flung her ponytail over her shoulder. “I haven’t seen Markus in a while,” she confessed. “I’ve called to him, but he’s yet to answer or appear.”
Seeley nodded, understanding. “Zeke and Markus, with Father James’s help really did a number on that shack.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “When Father Mortimer picked us up at the airport, he was cordial and pleasant. He even hugged Father James like long lost friends. Mortimer said he’d arranged a clandestine meeting with other hunters and holy mystics. We didn’t suspect a thing. Not until we ventured off the highway, along a winding dirt road. Even then, Mortimer talked convincingly about the others joining us.”
EXPERIENCING GUILT, JORDAN wondered if she could’ve helped in some way. Unconsciously, she kneaded her palms where only a month ago her angel, Markus, had healed the perforations from her crucified death. She still felt vulnerable. After her mom finished speaking, she went on to explain the bizarre manifestation of Father James in the woods, which more than likely had been at the exact time of the melee.
Seeley forced a tight smile. “Thanks for joining the battle. Evidently, you’re acquiring newfound talents.”
Not particularly surprised regarding the mystical avenue God was leading her down, Jordan tried not to dwell on the future and what it would entail.
Whenever Seeley received a mystical vision from a higher realm, her unusual gift of foreseeing future events led her on covert missions. At seventeen, Jordan was also endowed with specific visions and capabilities. She’d been selected as God’s warrior to rid the world of the demons prowling for unsuspecting souls. Generally, their dreams or visions weren’t your run-of-the-mill daydreams, but technical and precise, for use in combating evil.
A compact vehicle pulled into the driveway and their discussion was put on hold as Seeley’s parents, Henry and Emily, hobbled up the porch steps. Clear disappointment showed on Henry’s face.
Looking at Seeley, he asked, “Are you taking Jordan to live in the city with you?”
Jordan and Seeley exchanged glances. Since Seeley’s recent wedding to Declan, and the unplanned trip to Sherando, they’d forgotten to discuss their plans with Henry and Emily.
THEY’D BEEN LIVING with her grandparents for the past eight years since the murder of her father, Jack Chase. Seeley had wanted Jordan to move into the city and go back to homeschooling, but she’d refused. She liked acting somewhat normal and having friends. No more sheltering.
Therefore, her mom had conceded, allowing Jordan to remain in Elma.
“Dad, if it’s all right with you and Mom,” Seeley glanced at Emily, “Jordan would like to stay in Elma until she graduates.”
Em’s wrinkled mouth spread in a joyful smile. “Of course she can stay with us. This is her home for crying out loud.”
“Humph … you couldn’t have mentioned it earlier?” said Henry sounding bothered, and yet, he had a delightful twinkle in his eyes. “Jordan, I’m glad you’ll be here to torture us for a little longer.”
Just like that, they were a normal family, joking and laughing, forgetting demons, wraiths, and Lucifer for a short interval.
TO ERR IS TO FORGET
GOLDEN RAYS CLUNG to the bloated, lumbering clouds as dawn unraveled, breaching the horizon. Soon, breezes trampled the fluffy obstructions, permitting a burst of sunshine on the lapping water below. Situated at a desk strewn with books and papers, Seeley perused the rolling waves and the moored boats dancing at the wharf.
The loft apartment located on Buffalo’s waterfront sported a spectacular view, however, Seeley diverted back to the laptop computer to reread her last paragraph. She deleted more than half and rewrote it, only to delete it a second time.
She clicked the lid closed, annoyed.
Declan padded up from behind, and skimming his hands over her shoulders, began a gentle massage. “You didn’t come to bed.”
Seeley covered his hands, leaning her head back. “My head was swimming with ideas last night, and I wanted to write them down before I forgot. I slept on the couch for a while.”
He gazed into her face. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Just tired.” Yawning, she rose a bit unsteadily and shuffled toward the kitchen to prepare his customary breakfast of over-medium eggs and toast. Pouring a glass of orange juice, she sloshed the countertop, and with shaky hands, blotted up the sopping mess.
“Seeley, something’s wrong. What is it?” When she didn’t reply, he said, “It’s been over three weeks. Look, I’m healed. Doing well.”
As she peered into his powder-blue eyes, he raised his arms for her inspection and rotated in a circle. His smile improved his hard, rugged features as he combed his fingers through his tawny, silver-streaked hair. Dashing as ever, he wore a linen suit. His broad shoulders looked even wider in the jacket. The lacerations and bruises he’d received at the hands of the demons had mellowed to a faint yellowish-green, and would soon heal altogether. Still, Seeley knew the memory of the wraith’s possession was complicated and difficult to mend.
She inflated her lungs and heaved out a slow exhale. “I miss Jordan,” she said instead of mentioning her real concerns. “Can we move to Elma, out of the city? I’d like to be near my parents, and then Jordan can move in with us.”
“Anywhere your little heart desires. I can’t wait to be a father. Although, I hear teenagers can be rough.” He glanced at her for confirmation. “And I want you to be happy.”
Declan’s words, be a father, were more rattling to Seeley than he’d ever imagine. “I think I’ll drive over there for a visit today and check to see how Father James is coping.” She felt comforted by Declan’s embrace and his kiss on her temple and then chilled as he withdrew his arms.
He guzzled the juice and set the glass on the counter with a distinct clink. “I really like the guy,” he stated. “I never thought of priests as everyday Joe’s, but Father James is cool. The type of person who’ll listen and understand.”
“Yes, he’s a good man. But I still miss Father Posluszny.” Seeley paused, reflecting on the late priest, who’d been her spiritual advisor since she’d been ten-years-old. Father Edmund Posluszny had sorted through her extraordinary mysticism and the abnormal rapport with Ezekiel, her guardian angel. “Father Posluszny could read your soul. Kind of awesome and freaky at the same time. Father James is a lot younger. I think of him more like an older brother.” She sighed. “I know he’s also gifted in some way.”
“I agree.” He blew her a kiss. “Gotta go. Virgil’s been on my butt lately. See you tonight.” Snatching his briefcase, he walked out the door.
Seeley was exhausted after another restless night, though she’d managed to dress for the day. She drove directly to Saint Mary’s of the Holy Angel’s Church and walked straight to the side chapel, a nook where she could be alone. She knelt, buried her head into her hands and questioned the uncertainty of life, seeking guidance from Heaven.
On hearing a light rustling, her eyes opened. A person enveloped in sunshine drew near, and she squinted into the brightness. She beheld a resplendent woman in a translucent frock and felt the faint touch of a heavenly hand upon her head.
“Seeley,” breathed a woman’s melodic voice, “my daughter, pray … pray … and continue praying for mankind. Atrocities shroud God’s creations. Our hearts weep.”
Seeley gazed at the woman’s indescribable beauty. “Mother of my heart,” she implored, “please help me to understand.”
“The infant has a soul.” As the woman’s splendor dissolved in the stirring air, Seeley heard, “I’m
with you always.”
Minutes passed. She twitched when Father James placed a hand on her shoulder, saying, “Let’s talk.”
She followed him into the rectory and sank into an overstuffed chair, but her mind was elsewhere as the priest settled a teapot and two cups on the table. He permitted the brew to steep and lowered to an adjoining chair, all the while analyzing her with knowing eyes.
Fingers templed, he raised them to his mouth. “You are distraught.”
The priest read her well, almost as well as Father Posluszny. With her hormones going wacky, Seeley wept easily of late. Yet, holding her emotions in check, she served the tea, handed a cup of steaming brew to the priest and poured one for herself. She then blew on the steam and sipped gingerly.
Balancing the cup and saucer on her lap, she looked at him. Probably in his late thirties, the priest already showed signs of spiritual warfare. Horizontal lines ran across his forehead, his eyes were hollow from lack of sleep, and grooves sketched from his nose to around his mouth. He had been Seeley and Jordan’s spiritual advisor since they’d moved back to Elma eight years before, and more recently, an expert in warding off demon assailants.
“Father, I haven’t revealed the whole truth about what happened in that God-forsaken shack.” Pausing to gather her thoughts, she took another sip of tea. “Let me start a few months ago when Zeke and Markus enlightened us about demon half-breeds.” She lowered her eyelids, a vivid remembrance of that day playing in her head . . ..
MARKUS AND ZEKE had been restless when Seeley had followed Jordan into her bedroom. Markus had raked both hands through his wild mane. “We’re in a quandary,” he’d said. “It’s totally unbelievable the lines that have been crossed.”
Wickedly They Dream Page 2
