Exorcist Falls

by Jonathan Janz

  I had to tell the tale.

  Tensing my muscles, I began to speak again. It didn’t take long. I omitted several crucial facts. Had I revealed to the congregation that I’d known Danny was the killer for the past several days, I would have either faced the prospect of explaining Malephar’s possession of me or worse, confront the possibility of jail time for concealing the Sweet Sixteen’s identity. I did tell them about Tyler Raines’s confession booth admission, and at this there were audible gasps and a great deal of talking. I had to raise my hands for silence.

  My newfound confidence surged. “After I confronted Officer Raines about his confession, I worried Father Patterson would prevent me from doing my duty as a citizen in bringing Raines to justice.”

  I paused, permitted myself the slightest of grins. “I need not have worried.”

  I continued, making sure to paint Father Patterson in a heroic light. It wasn’t difficult. The congregation knew nothing of his failure to save Ariana, so in their minds, his dive into the churning waters of the reservoir was motivated exclusively by a desire to do good.

  I could tell that my account was having the desired effect. The crowd looked pleased, respectful, appreciative. Even edified. Their faith in God’s redeeming love had been restored. As I spoke, my eyes were repeatedly drawn to the Hartmans. Carolyn’s expression was inscrutable, but not, I thought, closed to me. Casey seemed preoccupied by other thoughts, examining his fingernails and perhaps mourning his uncle. I couldn’t blame him. To Casey, Danny had been a family member and a friend. I couldn’t imagine how difficult a time his young psyche must be having trying to reconcile the Danny he knew with the beast that had rampaged through the city.

  But it was toward Liz that my eyes were most often drawn. Earlier, I’d been unable to discern the emotions on her face. Now, however, as I brought my narrative to a close, I understood that what I saw in her eyes was nothing more complex than powerful, unwavering affection. She was grateful I had survived, and she wanted to be with me. It was similar to the expression she’d worn after I had helped save Casey, only this time there existed a greater hunger in it, a maturity that made me both giddy and lightheaded. If we continued down this path, our relationship would become physical. Would I be able to love her the way a man should love a woman? Would my inexperience disappoint her? Make her yearn for someone else, someone without the insecurities that plagued me?

  That issue was for another time, I decided. Now I had to bring my oratory to a close, to cinch the matter for these people whose faith had been tested, whose exposure to depravity had darkened their view of mankind.

  “In a perfect world, Brothers and Sisters, we would not have to worry about our neighbors coveting our possessions, spreading lies about us.” I lowered my voice. “Even preying on our children.”

  The emotion was thick amongst my parishioners. Joy Smith, after all, one of the Sweet Sixteen’s victims, had lived only twelve blocks from St. Matthew’s and had occasionally attended services here with her aunt. She had known Casey, which had likely led to Danny’s interest in her.

  My eyes shifted to Casey, who was still studying his hands.

  A tremor of disquiet shook me.

  I reached up, adjusted my collar. “Man is capable of incredible love, friends, it is true. We need only look toward the courageous and selfless acts of Father Joe Patterson yesterday to discover evidence of man’s goodness. The fact that I am standing before you today is proof that we can transcend our baser natures.

  “But never doubt for an instant, friends, that man does possess a shadow side, a tendency toward darkness that necessitates an honest, unblinking assessment of ourselves as a species. We are selfish. We desire control, and though we have been given free will, we seek to exert our will over others.

  “The two murderers—Danny Hartman and Tyler Raines—are examples of the depths to which people can sink. Neither of these men, Brothers and Sisters, suffered from mental illness. These men, like those all over the world who kill for power, who inflict pain for the sheer thrill of it, demonstrate why we must transform love into an active force, why we must strive to emulate Christ’s example, why we must…”

  I trailed off, unable to speak, unable even to think. Because my gaze had returned to Casey Hartman. Or more specifically, to something he was studying.

  He wasn’t examining his fingernails.

  No, I thought. It’s not possible.

  I shook my head, forcing myself to end my sermon and thereby quelling the surge of unrest now beginning to take hold of the crowd. I muttered something about loving one another, stumbled through the benediction as coherently as I could, then escaped the lectern. I slipped out the side door and stood leaning against a pillar, my breathing quick and shallow, my body doused with sweat.

  The service ended moments later, and to my surprise, a slender figure made its way down the little-used hallway toward me. I thought at first it was Liz. In the pooled shadows, it was difficult to tell. But when the figure emerged into the jaundiced light spilling from the sanctuary, I realized it was Liz’s son.

  Casey’s head was cocked to one side, his expression hostile. “That was a pretty selective speech, Crowder. Left out an awful lot, didn’t you?”

  I noted the disrespectful way he addressed me, felt a flicker of annoyance, then reminded myself of how much he had endured.

  I said, “I saw no reason to delve too deeply into recent events.”

  “Hung my uncle out to dry but made yourself look like a big hero.”

  It wasn’t what I’d expected. Maybe I should have anticipated Casey’s rancor after our interactions at his home, but the heat of his tone still caught me unprepared.

  “Casey, you need time and rest. None of this is your fault.”

  But he seemed not to have heard me. “You think you’re a big man, don’t you? Uncle Danny was worth a hundred of you.”

  “I know you’re hurting—”

  “Maybe you’ll be hurting soon.”

  I stared at him. His eyes looked sludgy in the wan candlelight. I felt a chill, remembering how his face had looked before we’d chased Malephar from his body.

  “What are you saying, Casey? I know you’d never threaten anyone.”

  “Oh no?” Casey asked, dark eyes gleaming.

  I thought of the demon’s hellish form sinking to the bottom of the reservoir. It wasn’t possible he’d already escaped his watery tomb.

  Was it?

  I swallowed. “Casey, you haven’t experienced anything strange at your house, have you?”

  “You’re talking about Malephar, right?” he asked. “When you showed up at my house the other day, I knew the demon had chosen you.”

  My head was spinning. I cleared my throat. “Have you experienced anything supernatural—”

  “Supernatural my ass,” he said, snorting laughter. “I promise you, Father, what happened to me the other night was perfectly natural.”

  I reached for the crucifix in my pocket. “It wasn’t your fault the demon took control of you. And if he has attacked you again—”

  “I’m not talking about the night of the exorcism, Father. I’m talking about the murders.”

  I froze, staring. “What do—”

  “Uncle Danny told me all about them,” Casey said. “He told me he was gonna commit suicide, or turn himself in. He said you’d go to his superiors, that it was only a matter of time before he got caught.”

  I couldn’t feel my legs beneath me, couldn’t breathe. “Casey, your uncle was a sick man—”

  “He was a great man!” Casey shouted. He took a step toward me, his eyes flaring. “He did amazing things. And he would’ve been fine if you hadn’t—”

  “He was murdering children, Casey. He had to be stopped.”

  “Nothing has stopped, Crowder. You’ve only made things worse.”

  “Casey, you need to—”

  “It wasn’t Tyler Raines.”

  I stared at him.

  Casey nodded,
reveling in my surprise. “Uncle Danny told me all about what you did to Sutherland. You’re a killer too. Don’t deny it.”

  But I barely heard this last. Because he had extended a hand toward me, palm up.

  I stared in numb horror at Julia Deveroux’s emerald-lined crucifix.

  My eyes rose to meet Casey’s. His smile was ghastly. “Uncle Danny coached me. He told me exactly what to do.”

  The floor had fallen away beneath me. “No,” I whispered.

  “Yes,” Casey answered. “And you know what else, you son of a bitch? I enjoyed it. Losing my virginity and stopping her screams—”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I enjoyed it,” he repeated. “For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like a pussy. I wasn’t afraid anymore. You understand that, Crowder? I wasn’t afraid!”

  I extended my hand toward the emerald-lined crucifix, but he snatched it away, shook his head. “If you tell a soul about what I did, Crowder, I’ll tell everyone the truth about you.”

  “No, Casey,” I pleaded. “Let’s talk about—”

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Crowder. Fuck you.”

  I could only stare at him, the innocence I’d beheld only a week ago gone. Replaced by a pitch-black hatred.

  He nodded. “I’d watch the news if I were you. See you soon, Father.”

  He walked away.

  ¨¨¨

  My chest burning, my cheeks tingling with salty tears, I fled down the stairwell to the basement corridor, which was blessedly empty. The regular employees had either gone home, or were now milling with the rest of the parishioners in the sanctuary or the narthex. I was grateful that none could see my tears of sorrow at Casey’s terrible admission. I had again erred in my reasoning, again believed an innocent man to be guilty of murder.

  But at least I hadn’t killed Tyler Raines. Danny had done the honors for me.

  Thinking of Raines, I shambled down the long, nearly lightless corridor toward the red room. Raines had harbored unsavory thoughts, it was true, and given time, he may have allowed those desires to cross over into bloodshed. But Danny had killed him because Raines wasn’t a killer, because Raines could identify Danny.

  While the true murderer of Julia Deveroux was living with his mother and sister in a luxurious house on Rosemary Road.

  I couldn’t believe it. Casey, of all people, had become his uncle’s sinister heir.

  Nearly swooning from the revelation, I opened the door of the red room and prepared to unburden myself to Father Patterson. The couch on which he had lain earlier, however, was empty, and my catharsis was delayed.

  Not bothering to close the door, I proceeded down the hallway, thinking of Liz, who had already lost a husband and might now lose a son. Was Casey already lost to her?

  Yes, I realized. He’d either keep on killing, be apprehended, or die in an attempt to flee justice. It all came to the same thing: Liz would no longer have her boy.

  Moaning, I blundered up the stairs at the end of the corridor, only the wooden handrail preventing me from collapsing. Father Sutherland and I had exorcised the demon from an adolescent body only to see that young man commit an unspeakable atrocity the same week. Had Casey somehow been afflicted with Malephar’s evil emotions in a permanent, irreparable way? It made sense, I decided, as I moved up the final set of steps to the administrative wing of the cathedral. How could such a deep, complex—though unwanted—union with such a ferocious entity not leave an indelible stain?

  Or had Casey harbored such unwholesome cravings all along, and only, through the realization that his uncle was the serial killer terrorizing the city, been given the opportunity to unleash his darkest urges?

  It was a possibility too horrible to contemplate, one that bore a hideous resemblance to the sermon I had just delivered. Was man, in his tendency toward sin, irretrievably doomed? I didn’t think so, yet the notion that Casey had always possessed the potential for such wickedness troubled me to the marrow.

  Enervated, desperately longing for a friendly face, I moved through the reception area and opened the door to Father Patterson’s office. Closing it behind me, I turned and was surprised to find Patterson in his big chair, looking at me. The overhead light was off, and the lamps were dark, but there were several candles glowing on the corners of his desk and on the end tables that lined the perimeter of the office.

  My shoulders sagged with relief. “Hey, Father. I was hoping you’d be awake.”

  Good humor twinkled in his eyes. His expression seemed very warm in the candlelight, his demeanor more relaxed than I’d seen since this ordeal began. Though it didn’t erase the shock of learning what Casey had done, it did ease my jangling nerves somewhat.

  He gestured toward the chair opposite him. “Take a seat, Jason.”

  Shooing away a greenbottle fly, I did as he bade.

  “Sister Rebecca told me the service went well,” he said.

  I smiled what I was sure was a dopey smile, but I was unable to restrain my pleasure at receiving Father Patterson’s approval. After Sutherland died, I never thought I’d enjoy the same mentor-pupil relationship, but now that Father Patterson and I understood one another better, I suspected that was exactly the sort of dynamic we were establishing.

  “Were you nervous?” he asked.

  “Very,” I admitted. “But my preparations were thorough enough to get me through the jitters.”

  “That’s fantastic, Jason. I’m proud of you.”

  I beamed down at my lap, feeling better than I had since…

  …since finding out about Casey.

  My good spirits vanished. I felt terrible about taxing Father Patterson with such a weighty issue so soon after the trauma he’d endured, but I knew this discussion couldn’t wait.

  “Father Patterson…” I started.

  “Yes, Jason?”

  “Tyler Raines didn’t kill anyone.”

  His smile slipped a little. “Then why would Danny kill him?”

  “He knew Danny’s secret. Danny killed him out of self-preservation.”

  Elbows on his desk, he spread his hands in a puzzled gesture. “If Raines didn’t kill the Deveroux girl, who did?”

  I told him. I thought for sure he would scoff at the revelation, or at the very least attempt to dissuade me of Casey’s guilt, but he seemed to accept everything I said.

  He made a pained face. “What should we do?”

  I realized I’d backed myself into a corner. I could never tell him the complete truth, that I was hesitant to turn Casey in because he knew my secret, knew I’d murdered Father Sutherland.

  I said, “There’s no good solution. If we go to the authorities, we stop the murders, but we break Liz’s heart.”

  “Father Crowder,” he said, lowering his forehead and holding me with his profound gaze. “It’s better to let Liz begin the healing process now if it means no more dead children.”

  I nodded. He was right, of course. If Casey told the police what I’d done after they arrested him—which he was certain to do—I would simply tell them the truth, that I’d murdered Sutherland in error. I would go to jail for a long time, but at least the mayhem would end.

  It would be better if I told Patterson now. He would likely despise me for killing his best friend, but there was a small chance he might respect me for confessing the truth. And who better to bare my soul to than a priest?

  My lips began to form the words, but before I could utter them, Patterson said, “Sister Rebecca has certainly taken a shine to you. I don’t mind telling you, there have been moments when I’ve felt attracted to her myself.”

  I tried not to show my surprise. She and Father Patterson were closer in age than she and I were, but the notion of Patterson harboring romantic feelings for her was one I’d never considered.

  Perhaps he read the worry in my expression, for he said, “Don’t worry, Jason. You’re the one she pines for. Not me.”

  Too bad I’ll never be able to enjoy a relatio
nship with her, I thought. Her or Liz. I imagined Liz’s lovely face, imagined her horrorstruck expression at learning that I had murdered Sutherland. I shivered, became aware of a dripping sound.

  Father Patterson noticed my frown, said, “The sink’s been doing that for days. I haven’t gotten around to having it fixed.”

  “Ah,” I said. “By the way, where is Sister Rebecca? I saw her in the sanctuary earlier, but she disappeared.”

  Patterson smiled. “She’s right here in the office, Jason.”

  When I only frowned at him, he nodded over my shoulder. I turned, expecting to see Rebecca’s kindly face smiling down at me in that beguiling way of hers that was somehow motherly and bewitching at the same time.

  But Sister Rebecca wasn’t standing at my shoulder.

  She wasn’t smiling.

  She was nailed to the back wall with foot-long spikes, her limbs spread apart, her naked body flayed open from her throat to her vagina.

  Gagging, I stumbled out of my chair and sank to my hands and knees, unable to endure the ghastly sight.

  “Is something troubling you, Jason?” Father Patterson asked.

  “What’s…” I managed through a series of choking coughs. “What’s… wrong with you?”

  “Death is perfectly natural,” Patterson said in that same serene voice. “I would think you’d know that better than anyone.”

  I brought a forearm to my mouth, realized where the flies had come from. They were buzzing around Sister Rebecca’s corpse, supping of her congealing blood. I ventured a glance at Rebecca’s feet, saw how they’d been skewered with Patterson’s cruciform letter openers. I didn’t need to glance at her hands to confirm they’d been impaled in the same brutal manner.

  I was aware that Patterson had stood up behind his desk, was waiting for my reaction.

  “Why did you do this?” I moaned.

  “Because you killed one of my servants, Jason.”

  Only he hadn’t used my name. I turned slowly and stared up at Patterson, who leered at me in triumph.

  “What did you call me?” I whispered.

  “Craven,” he answered in a guttural, buzzing voice.