by J. R. Mabry
“At the time, I had about as much interest in sacred relics as I did stewardesses, and he was proposing to walk off with fifty pounds of premium ’shrooms.” York sat back and shook his head. “It was more than I wanted to think about since those ’shrooms were all that stood between us and pimping ourselves out on the street—not that I haven’t been there, truth be told. Anyway, I told him to shut up and hold still so I could make good on his first proposition before I went limp, but he went over my head. Larry jumped at the offer, and we walked away from that party with massive hangovers, three sexually transmitted diseases, and one religious relic of dubious provenance. We also left deprived of one suitcase of psilocybin, a fifth of hideously expensive English gin, and our girlish innocence, which has never returned.” He grinned wickedly. “But I’m sure you know all about that.”
Terry returned the smile and turned up the wickedness just a touch. “Oh, I think I do.”
“Unfortunately, the bishop’s little dog got hold of some of the mushrooms and ate God knows how many of them. That fucking Pekingese was vibrating so fast that he rose into the middle of the air like a hummingbird.”
Terry choked, sending some of the rich, smoky brew up his nose. When he recovered, he asked, “Just out of curiosity, what was the relic?”
“Oh, it was a little stub of a spear. Little more than an arrowhead, really. Made of iron. I thought the thing was going to crumble away in my hand, but the damnedest thing happened to us. Ever since we made that exchange, we just breezed right through every border crossing in Latin America. No one asked us any questions; no one searched our bags. All we had to do was say we wanted something, and people just gave it to us. It was like we were blessed. So, who knows, maybe there was something to it after all.”
“A spear…and no one opposed you…” Terry was suddenly lost in thought, an excitement welling up in him. “Mr. York, where is the spear now?”
“Well, after we came back to the States, Bern took up with a shrill bitch from Brooklyn and became an insufferable prick. So, at a New Year’s Eve party”—he waved at Terry playfully—“so many parties—I snuck into his sock drawer and took it. I came out to California—this was, oh, 1976, yes, because of all that bicentennial brouhaha—and I began a torrid affair with the rector of Saint James’s.”
“That’s an Episcopal parish, in Berkeley, right? The one up in the Hills?” Terry asked.
“Yes, that’s the one. And they called David—my David—to be their rector.” He sighed deeply. “We were Abelard and Heloise…”
Terry was about to ask which was which, but he held his tongue as other, more evocative questions occurred to him. In what way were York and his David Abelard and Heloise? Did angry relatives or social convention keep them apart? Or had one of them been castrated in a midnight raid?
Terry’s mind reeled as the questions spooled out in his mind. But before he could ask any of them, York continued. “We placed the relic in the tabernacle one night after we made love in the chancel. Oh, those were wild times.” His eyes lit up. “It’s the memories of him that keep me going, you know. We were together for twenty years before he finally succumbed.”
“To…” Terry started to ask, but then he stopped. “Oh. Of course.” No one succumbed to anything in the gay community except for AIDS. People endured everything else—triumphed over everything else—but they only succumbed to that.
“And as far as I know, it’s still there,” Mr. York smiled. “I’ve thought about going to see if it’s still there, but then I think, why bother? More trouble than it’s worth. I don’t know anyone there, now. And besides, being in that building brings up too many…memories.” Terry could see the moisture in his eyes, and he reached across and took York’s hand. The old man squeezed it, and then held on, no doubt hungry for human touch.
“Now…I’ve been an old fool talking about myself far too much. You didn’t come to hear about me.”
“Well, actually, that is exactly why I’m here,” Terry said, still holding tightly to the man’s hand.
“Tell me about yourself,” York spoke brightly, but tears coursed down his cheeks. Terry debated whether to inquire further or to honor the man’s request to change the subject. He opted for the latter.
“I fight demons,” Terry said simply.
“Oh, that does sound exciting,” Mr. York said, letting go of Terry’s hand and dabbing at his eyes with a bright red handkerchief. “Tell me all about that.”
43
KAT WAS RELIEVED when Susan grabbed her for their exorcism visit. As comforting as it had been in Mikael’s arms, her brain circled obsessively around the image of Charlie huddled by the back wall of the cave. The distraction, the invitation to do something, was welcome indeed.
Both of the women seemed lost in their own thoughts on the way over, however. Susan looked over at her. “Did Mikael…do you know about Dearborn?”
Kat shook her head. “No, what about Dearborn?” Susan told her, and as she did, Kat’s eyes grew wide. “Oh my God,” she said. “I dreamed that.”
“What?” asked Susan.
“I totally dreamed that. Yesterday morning,” Kat slumped in her seat. “There was the ostrich that we met in the Void—”
“Ostrich? What?” Susan raised an eyebrow in her direction.
“There was a church, and another building that looked…Eastern. Then there was this fireball. Then the animals were running around, just like we saw on the plain in vision today. The ostrich ran up to me, and then I saw the flash. I didn’t hear the explosion, though. I guess I still didn’t, in real life.”
“So it was a capital-D dream?” Susan asked.
“It had to be,” Kat nodded. “I mean…it came true.”
“I guess it did. What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have these for nothing. I mean, not usually.” For several streets, neither of them said anything. Kat’s musings reminded her of a question that had been bugging her lately. “Sue, is Satan really real?” Kat asked.
Susan looked over at her and seemed to be gauging the seriousness on her face. “Define real,” she answered.
Kat sighed. After several seconds, she said, “Why is everything in the religion biz so maddening? Even my dreams. I mean, why is everything so obscure?”
Susan smiled grimly. “Do you want the long answer or the short answer?”
“Forget it.” Kat looked out the window, drew her legs up, and hugged her knees. “How long before Charlie fades out?” she asked.
“That’s a Terry question, I think,” Susan said. “But I’m pretty sure as long as someone remembers him, he’s safe.”
“Safe,” Kat repeated. “I’m not sure what that word means anymore.” She looked over at Susan. “Do you feel safe?”
“That depends on what you mean by ‘safe,’” she said.
“Oh, fuck you all,” Kat said, burying her face in her knees.
Susan laughed a hearty, stress-shattering belly laugh and patted Kat’s shoulder. “You’ll get used to it, Honey. Religious life means living in a constant state of not knowing. The rest of the world can be sure of things—at least people can tell themselves they’re sure of things. You know, as long as you eat packaged foodstuffs before the printed expiration date, you won’t get sick. The sun will definitely come up in the morning—that kind of thing. But we religious folks can’t be sure of…well, of almost anything. We have trust, not knowledge. It’s crazy-making, I know. Consider it a lifestyle choice.”
“Why would I choose that?” Kat pleaded with the windshield.
“I don’t think you did. I think it chose you.”
Kat thought about this for a while. “I don’t understand the power thing.”
“What power thing?” Susan asked.
“Well, as a Wiccan, we were always doing ceremonies where we raised power and then sent it out to do healing. But Terry said that Jesus gave up power, and so we should do the same. I don’t really understand why that’s good.�
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“It’s not.”
“What? I thought that was a Christian thing.” Kat’s eyebrows nearly met in confusion.
“That’s a Christian guy thing,” Susan said. “Look, if you are of a privileged class who has power, then you imitate Christ by giving it up. As in, if you’re a white man.”
“And if you’re not a white man?” Kat asked.
“If you’re not a white man and you’re being told that in order to be a good Christian you have to give up even the power that you don’t have, you’re being exploited.” Susan bit at a nail. “You know what I want? Frosting. Cream cheese frosting. Right out of the can.” She turned to Kat. “You want to split a can of frosting? I promise I won’t tell the guys if you don’t.”
“No. Eww.” Kat pushed Susan’s face toward the far window. Susan laughed. Kat scowled, still thinking. “Okay, so how does someone who isn’t already privileged with power follow Jesus?”
“By doing what Jesus did. He was a poor peasant and probably didn’t have the money or education to be a legitimate rabbi, right?”
“If you say so…”
“So, he became a rabbi anyway—he didn’t let them keep him down. And then when that woman was about to be stoned for adultery, he stood up to that whole angry crowd of privileged men with rocks in their hands, just itching to throw them. He stood beside her. He didn’t lord power over anyone, but he took the power that he had and used it to help someone else. He was always doing that. He acted in solidarity with every sort of disempowered person in his society. He may not have had a lot of power, but he made what he had count. Not for himself but for others.”
“Is that what Luther says?” Kat asked.
“Yeah, more or less.” Susan squirmed in her seat. “Okay, here’s the thing about Luther. I love him dearly, but I don’t always agree with him.” Susan pulled the car into a space and shut off the motor. “For instance, Luther says that if that guy there”—she pointed at a pizza delivery guy with a heater bag—“if he were charging at me right now to attack me—”
“Armed with a deadly pizza,” Kat added.
“Assuming I’m gluten-intolerant,” Susan agreed. “Luther would say that I could not defend myself. If, however, the pizza guy were charging at you with murderous intent—”
“Death by anchovy,” Kat said.
“I’d be free to do anything in my power to stop him, in order to protect you. I could even kill him, and it wouldn’t be a sin.”
“That’s extreme,” Kat said.
“He works for Extreme Pizza,” Susan pointed out. “We’re here, aren’t we?” Kat opened the door.
“You don’t have to come in,” Susan said.
“No, I want to. I’m just a little overwhelmed. I’ve already lost one friend today.”
“You mean Charlie? First, you don’t know that he’s lost. And second, he wasn’t much of a friend. And third, I’m not in any danger.” Susan smiled at her. “It’s just a demon.” Susan opened her own door and got out.
Together they walked up the steps to the door. Susan knocked. In a few moments, the young man from the day before opened the door just a crack, but it wasn’t his voice that emerged. “You cunts can get lost. We’ve got him, and we’re going to keep him.”
Susan looked at Kat and narrowed her eyes. Then, faster than Kat could see what was happening, she snatched open the screen door and kicked at the wooden door with her wide, beefy legs. An “oof” sound emerged from inside the house as the young man was flung to the floor. Susan followed him, and Kat scooted quickly to catch the door before the screen slammed shut. Going inside, she saw Susan standing with her foot on Doug’s throat. “Remember me, asshole?” Susan said. “I’m the one who believes in one God, maker of Heaven and Earth.” As she rattled off the Apostle’s Creed, Kat looked around to make sure they were alone and wouldn’t be interrupted. No one else seemed to be around.
“You have no dominion over us!” the young man shouted, clutching at Susan’s leg and writhing on the floor. Once Susan had finished the Creed, she answered. “No, I don’t. Never said I did. But the one to whom I belong does. And it is he who sent me. And you’ll obey me, or you’ll answer to him.” She pressed more firmly on the man’s throat.
“You’re not a priest—” the demon complained.
“Every baptized Christian is a priest, and more than enough to deal with something like you,” Susan countered.
Doug’s body yanked on her ankle, and Susan went down, hitting her head on the hardwood floor. She shook it off, undaunted. She rolled on top of the man and pinned his arms under her sizable legs.
“You don’t have any holy water!” the demon within the young man spat. “You don’t have any vestments! You don’t even have a ritual book!”
“Oh yes, that’s what you’d like, isn’t it, you stuck-up piece of shit. You’d like a ceremony, wouldn’t you? You’d like me to make a big production of casting you out, so that at least when you’re squeezed out of his body like the little turd you are, you can feel like you’ve put up a brave, dramatic fight. Well, fuck that. You don’t get a ceremony. You don’t get to wear a party dress, and you don’t get balloons. And you don’t get any satisfaction from the drama of it all.” She looked over at Kat. “Worse than Terry,” she grinned.
The sight of her grinning while riding that possessed man like a bucking bronco was deeply unsettling. Kat felt sick.
“Our Father,” Susan began. Kat joined in as they prayed the Lord’s Prayer. About halfway through, her stomach settled. When they’d finished the prayer, Doug had stopped struggling.
Susan placed her hand on the man’s forehead, “Jesus, hear your sinner. Drive out this demon, and deliver this man, and give him the grace that he may choose a better life.” Then she rolled off him, stood up, and wiped her nose on her arm. “I’m not going to give you what you want,” she said to the possessed man. “No ceremony. No big to-do. I’m just going to come back, day after day, and I’m going to keep praying for you. And I’m betting I can keep it up longer than you can. Because it’s easy for me, and you are fucking suffering.” She kicked Doug in the head and made for the door. “C’mon, Kat. Done here for now.”
Kat followed silently, realizing for the first time that Susan hadn’t even bothered with a kit bag this time. Outside the house, the sunlight seemed brighter than she’d remembered it. The leaves on the tree above her were shockingly green. It wasn’t until they’d started the car and driven a couple of blocks that Kat spoke. “Did you really need to kick him in the head?”
“Was that a little rough?” Susan asked uncertainly.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask if your little friend is paying you a visit right now?” Kat looked at her warily.
“Because…?”
“Well, you’re a little irritable. Make that a lot irritable.” Kat braced herself for an angry response. But none came. Instead, Susan pressed her lips together until she found a parking space. Then she rested her head on the wheel. When the sobs came, they burst out violently.
“Oh, Susan. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Kat was flummoxed. She waited until Susan’s heaving subsided.
“It’s not you,” Susan said, her voice shaky and weak. “It’s Dylan.” Briefly, she told her about burning his stash.
“Oh boy,” Kat said. “Yeah, that’s not going to be any fun at all.”
“Let’s not go home,” Susan said, head still on the wheel but turned now to see Kat out of one bleary eye. “Let’s go drinking.”
“Oh. Okay. Let’s get drunk because you made it impossible for your husband to get high.” Kat frowned. “That makes no sense.”
“He’s going to be furious at me.”
“Did you think of that before you did it?” Kat asked.
“I wasn’t thinking. I just did it. I was pissed at him. Frustrated. Whatever.”
“Susan, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go home, and you’re going to face whatever wrath Dylan can muster.
And I’m going to stand beside you.”
Susan sniffed, choking back a sob. “Because that’s power,” she said.
“That’s power,” Kat agreed.
44
BRIAN PULLED into the parking lot at All Saints’ Episcopal and parked. To his right, Tobias panted noisily. He punched at the horn on the cherry-red Corolla, and Richard, who had been sitting on the steps near the back entrance to the church, looked up and waved. He stuffed a paperback into his shoulder bag and headed for the car.
“You brought me the good car,” Richard said when he was close enough to be heard.
“Yeah, I’ll probably catch hell for that, but Susan had the clunker today, so it’s not my fault,” Brian responded, giving Richard a brief hug. “She’s going to need gas,” he continued. “But you’ve got everything you need: There’s a duffle bag with three changes of clothes and your summer cassock. You’ll need that if you’re going south. Oh, and I packed your iPad and a charger.”
Richard ducked to look into the car. “I see you’ve also brought me a dog,” Richard said. Tobias seemed to be smiling at him in the way that yellow Labs do. Richard straightened up and gave Brian a puzzled look. “Why do I have a dog?”
“He insisted on coming.” Brian shrugged. “He barked until I let him in the car, and he doesn’t seem to be budging. My guess is that Toby—or the angel that’s in him—is determined to go with you.”
“All the way to Rages…” Richard said quietly, thinking deeply.
Brian passed a hand over Richard’s eyes until he refocused. “You okay to drive?”
“Oh yeah. Just thinking. Um, how is Dylan going to take this?” Richard asked.
“You mean his dog just taking off on a road trip?” Brian asked.
“Right,” Richard said.
“Believe me, Dylan is thinking about other things right now.”
