He was feeling a slight chill now. Max pulled the jacket over him as he continued reading. He had just gotten to a particularly interesting part about poltergeist and their connection to humans when the buzzing vibration of an incoming text interrupted him. Max opened up the chat box. The text was from Laz:
Lazaro: Hey. I got one for you.
“Ah crap!” Max said.
By “I got one for you,” Max knew the priest meant that he had found another case for him. Max shook his head in exasperation. Not that he minded getting cases (it was his job after all), but the last case with the Webbers had been more than he had expected. He was hoping to have a few weeks of downtime (maybe even a month) before taking on another gig.
Max thumb typed a reply.
Max: Last case was pretty intense. Getting infused right now. Was hoping to get a few weeks rest.
Lazaro: I know. I would not reach out if I didn’t think you really needed to look into this one.
Max: The Church has not looked into it already?
Usually, Max got the cases that The Church had already looked into and either a) decided the case was not worth the attention of an exorcist or b) the church had investigated the case but failed to solve it. Lazaro was pretty good about following protocol, but Max figured asking was worth a shot for the sake of his vacation if nothing else. Lazaro’s reply came quick.
Lazaro: Come on hermano
Lazaro: Yes. Church is not interested in this.
“Oh come on,” Max said.
Max leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The protocol for his infusion required that he be observed for an hour after it was done. He had planned on doing that then following his usual routine, which consisted of going home and taking it easy for the rest of the day. He did that just to make sure he tolerated the infusion well. Then he had planned on surprising Jen by getting her out of the western North Carolina and taking her to Durham for a few days. Max knew Jen had taken a few days off from her job. There was a documentary film festival going on in Durham. Max had planned on renting a room at The Marriot in downtown Durham. He had planned on the two of them spending a long weekend together, hanging out enjoying the eateries and locales within the city and catching some good documentaries. Right now, it seemed his plans were being shot to hell.
Lazaro sent another text.
Lazaro: You still there
Lazaro:?
Max typed back.
Max: Damn. Give me a minute bruh.
Max: Where is the job at?
Lazaro: Sorry man☺. You know me--impatient!
Lazaro: Job is in Sahalish
“Well, that is not too far,” Max said out loud.
The city of Sahalish was about an hour away from Sylva (the small town Max called home). Sahalish was near Asheville, NC. The bulk of the cases he got came from Asheville, Sahalish, and Charlotte with the occasional case coming from either of the small towns between or from areas farther out like The Triad (Highpoint, Winston-Salem and Greensboro, and the Triangle (Raleigh, Durham, and Chapel Hill).
Lazaro: It involves a kid.
“Crap!”
Max said the word louder than he meant to. The young girl a few chairs down, looked up from her iPad. Her face was a mixture of concern and caution.
“Sorry. Got some news from a friend,” Max said.
The explanation seemed to have been satisfactory. The girl gave a curt smile then went back to whatever was holding her attention on the tablet.
Max cursed, but this time in his head. Laz had said just the right thing to hook him in. The priest knew despite his tough and often cynical exterior Max had a soft spot for cases involving children and elderly people. Resigning himself to defeat, Max responded.
Max: How old?
Lazaro: 8
Well, that sealed it. Max knew he was trapped now, hook, line, and sinker. An advertisement scene from one of the numerous “reality” TV shows that seemed to be the craze these days flashed through his mind. The show seemed to be about fishing crews going out in dangerous waters on trawlers to capture fish. Max could not recall the name of the show as he rarely watched television. In the ad the crew of the ship was out on the ocean in the middle of a fierce storm. One of the seamen clad in bright yellow rain gear was depicted reeling in a fish while the wind and rain hammered down on him. Max pictured himself as the fish and Laz as the fisherman.
“Whoa! I got live’un boys! I’m gonna reel’em in! Reel’em hard!”
Max prepared to type a response, but Laz sent another text. This message contained a picture of the kid: dark hair, brown eyes with dark bags under them, a little chubby. What stood out the most was the look in the child’s dark brown eyes. Max knew the look well. It was a look of fear and hurt and powerlessness. The powerlessness of surrendering yourself to something that you knew was messed up but that you didn’t have the cognizance to fully understand, let alone stop. It was a look no child should have.
A photo of a woman who appeared to be the child’s mother pinged into his phone, followed by the photo of another girl. Max took the other girl for the boy’s sister. She was young (Max would guess in her mid-teens). She had the same dark hair, but her eyes were light green instead of dark brown. What was the same about the girl was that her eyes held the emotions that Max had seen in the boy’s. In the girl’s visage were added elements of resignation and bitterness.
Max shrugged. If the girl had witnessed some of the same things as the boy had but was older, it made perfect sense she would be embittered, especially as a teenager. It was clear to Max that this was a family under the siege of some sort of paranormal assault. Tired as he was, he could not refuse to help. Max also knew he would be no good to anyone if he was not good to himself. Running himself ragged and getting an exacerbation was the last thing anyone needed. He typed a quick response:
Max: I’ll do it. Send all the info you have on the family to my email.
Lazaro: You got it, man! The mother reached out last night. Evidently, something happened last night and then again this morning in the house.
Lazaro: Church not interested, but with kids, I knew you would be.
Max: Gee! Thx. ☹
Lazaro: LOL. Hey! Just doing what you asked.
Max wanted to be perturbed but knew he couldn’t. Laz was telling the truth. When he started his paranormal investigations, Max had asked Laz to let him know about any cases involving old people or children. In fact, he had made Laz promise to tell him no matter how tired he might be feeling.
Max: Yeah yeah
Max: Listen, I can’t do anything today…infusing and plan to rest afterward for the day
Max: Send me info. I will look over it tomorrow. We can head over on Friday if you are good that day.
Lazaro: Yes! Relax!
Lazaro: I will check my schedule for Friday and let you know if I am good. Cool?”
Max: Yes. Sounds good.
Lazro: Take care!
Max: Peace.
“Are you two still good in there?”
Max looked up to see Patty (another nurse that worked at the hospital) peering into the infusion room. Patty was an older lady. Max didn’t know how long she had been at the hospital, but she seemed to know the full history of the place before it was upgraded with all the modern amenities. She was nice and helpful, but Max knew she could go from honey to vinegar in a New York minute if pushed. He had once seen her scold a patient for refusing to stay for the prescribed hour after his infusion. Max had seen the man come in for an infusion since then a few times. He never tried to leave early again.
The girl on the iPad looked up from her tablet briefly enough to mouth a “yes.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m good,” Max replied
“Okay, if you need something, let me know.”
Satisfied with everyone’s answer, Patty disappeared.
Max leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes as he listened to “Head Over Heels” playing ove
r the speakers.
I might as well relax as much as I can, Max thought. I won’t be going on a vacation anytime soon.
Part III
Noon Rendezvous
Laz and Max agreed to meet around noon, but before lunch. The day was overcast like the last few days had been. It was raining. It was not a hard rain but a slow drizzle; the kind light enough where you didn’t need to have your windshield wipers constantly on, annoying enough you needed to use them sporadically to keep your window from getting blurry.
Max hit the wipers as the navigation on his phone guided him to the Chalmer’s residence. He had barely used the navigation as he was familiar with the general area. He just didn’t know the exact location of the Chalmer’s house. Max took a left turn up a steep hill named Mt. Caramel Drive until he reached house number 39, the house that belonged to the Chalmers. The home was on the left. It was a modest-sized one story home built of brick and wood. A low chain-link fence surrounded the house. The fence gates were open.
As usual, Laz had arrived before him. Max saw that Laz’s Elantra was parked behind a blue Toyota Sienna and an orange and brown Chevrolet 4x4 LUV pick-up truck. Laz was sitting in the driver’s seat with this window cracked, puffing on a cigarette. Max drove by the house. He did a quick turnaround so he could park his car on the curb facing downhill. He didn’t want to turn around when he left. Max adjusted the volume on his radio, lowering the volume of Cameo’s “Word Up” as he pulled the Fiero up on the curb. Satisfied, Max popped the parking brake and turned off the ignition.
Max climbed out of his car and examined his parking job. He had parked very close to the chain-link fence, but the car wasn’t touching it.
“Okay, Gemma. You know Daddy wouldn’t let you get scratched by a mean ole fence,” Max said.
He gently patted the hood of the Fiero. Gemma was the name he had given the vehicle. He read somewhere that the name meant jewel in Italian. He had decided it was a good name. The car was definitely precious to him.
“You finally decided to show up, eh?” Laz said.
The priest had hopped out of the Elantra to finish the last few puffs of his cig.
Max looked at his watch.
“We aren’t supposed to be here until 12:00. It is 11:56. By my clock we made it with four minutes to spare.”
Max usually preferred to dress super casual even while performing his job but for the initial consultation, he always dressed in business casual attire. Today he was wearing a light blue D’Amante dress shirt with a banded collar, gray slacks, a black leather belt, and a pair of black Stacy Adams dress shoes. A black Member’s Only jacket completed his attire. Max zipped up the jacket to help take the bite off the winter wind. Laz was wearing his standard priestly garb complete with white collar and a charcoal colored pea coat.
Laz rolled his eyes.
“Okay, Mr. Punctual, you ready to do this?”
“Lead the way, Father.”
Max gave a mock bow.
As the two men walked towards the front door, Max noted that the driveway extended around the side of the house. Another car rested in front of the Chevrolet and Toyota. It was silver Maverick with twin blue stripes on the hood and roof. The paint was rusted and the automobile rested on a pair of concrete cinderblocks.
“Guess they don’t have an HOA here,” Laz said.
Max shook his head.
“Yeah, that is a real shame?”
Laz looked back at his friend
“I never figured you much for an HOA guy? I always pegged you as the anti-authority ‘a man’s home is his castle’ type.”
Max gave a snort.
“Oh! I wasn’t talking about the HOA. I meant the car. It is a shame about the car. She’s a real beauty that deserves better.”
Now it was Lazaro’s turn to shake his head.
“You and cars,” he said. “You should have been a mechanic.”
“Hey! A man doesn’t have to have wings to like flying, you know,” Max replied.
Laz started to give a retort but was cut short as Max rang the doorbell.
He looked over at Laz and gave a Cheshire grin.
Max was getting ready to push the doorbell again when the green-painted door swung open. A man stood on the other side of the screen door. The man’s blue eyes looked over the duo with a cold stare.
“Can I help you?” the man said.
The man stood just short of six feet. If Max had to guess, he would say the man was probably about 5’10” or maybe 5’11” in height. He had a portly but stout build with thick hairy forearms, broad shoulders, and a wide frame. The man was dressed in a dark blue work shirt and a pair of grease-stained blue jeans. The work shirt was partially open, displaying the man’s hirsute chest. The shirt also didn’t help to hide the man’s ample gut that protruded over his pants. A cherry red and equally grease-stained baseball cap completed the man’s outfit.
Lazaro stepped forward.
“Yes. Mr. Chalmers, I presume?”
“You can presume all you want but depends on whose asking?”
Laz cleared his throat.
“I am, Father Lazaro and this is my friend and Max MacAulay. We are here about your special case. We’re the specialist that your wife spoke with.”
Lazaro gave a smile.
The man did not return it.
Max nodded a greeting. He kept his face neutral but suppressed the urge to tell the man to have fun playing with Casper and walk away. Only the thought of the child being plagued by the spirit kept him standing at the door.
“Hello and excuse my husband. Please come in,” a voice said from behind her husband.
Lazaro’s explanation seemed to pacify the man. He opened the screen door and gestured them in.
Max and Lazaro stepped into the room.
Two women were standing in the family’s living room. The taller woman stood just over five feet tall. She had long black hair and dark brown eyes. A pair of dark wireframe glasses adorned her face. The woman was dressed in a blue wool sweater and jeans with a black belt and black high heel shoes. The collar of a white button-down shirt protruded from underneath the neck of the sweater.
The woman stepped forward to shake Lazaro’s hand.
“Hello. It is nice to see you again, Father,” she said. “And nice to meet you too, Mr. MacAulay.”
She held out her hand to Max.
“I am Lindsey Chalmers.”
“Hello,” Max said.
He shook her hand.
The woman continued smiling as she introduced the rest of the family.
“This is my husband Greg, who you met already. Please forgive his gruffness. I promise you his bark is worse than his bite. I am still training him.”
She gave a nervous laugh.
Greg’s demeanor didn’t change. He continued to stare at them. Max felt like the man was looking at him specifically.
Lindsey turned to the girl standing behind her.
The girl could have been the younger sister of the mother as the two looked almost alike. She had long dark hair and eyes like her mother’s, but her features were more youthful. If Max had to guess, he would say the girl was in her mid to late teens. She was dressed in an acid-washed blue jean skirt. Beneath the skirt, she wore black leggings with black boots. A pair of blue leg warmers (almost the same color as the skirt) covered the tops of her boots. She had on a tight black t-shirt with a gold rocket ship on the front. Above the rocket were the words Sound Barrier written in bright red letters. Below the golden ship, Max saw the words “Speed of Light” in white cursive letters. A pair of large hoop earrings completed her attire. The girl stood with her arms crossed. Her whole demeanor cried teenage angst. Max appreciated her taste in music.
“And this right here is our daughter, Leslie,” Lindsey said.
Lindsey touched her daughter’s shoulder as she introdu
ced her. Leslie flinched and stepped back. She gave a curt “hello” to both Max and Laz before resuming her guarded pose. The young girl cast her eyes down towards the carpeted floor, barely making eye contact with them.
For children to be sullen in situations like this was not unusual. Max knew one of the stages of diabolic attack was oppression, which was when the spirit caused the people under siege to experience feelings of loneliness, isolation, and helplessness. These feelings were intended to have the individuals turn on each other and not rely on anyone else for help. The more lonely and isolated the person was the more susceptible they became to the entity’s machinations.
“Well, it seems I might be the only one with manners here today,” Lindsey said.
There was a hint of irritation in her voice. “But, we are all grateful for the help.”
Max cleared his throat. It was clear something was going on. His warrior instinct to solve it was kicking in.
“That’s okay, Mrs. Chalmers.”
“Please call me Lindsey,” she said.
Max nodded.
“It’s okay, Lindsey. When a troublesome spirit manifests in a home, it plays on the nerves of everyone. I want you all to know that while I can’t make any promises, Father Lazaro and I will do everything in our power to resolve this situation but for us to do that you need to trust in our expertise—”
Max heard a low “Humph” from Greg. Max continued. His voice was more forceful than before.
“Trust in our past experience in handling these issues and do what we say when we ask it or this will not work. Is that understood?”
Max looked around the room at the family.
Leslie kept her eyes down but nodded.
“Absolutely,” Lindsey said.
Max’s eyes rested on Greg. Dark brown eyes stared into cold blue.
The two men stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Neither of them flinching. The silence was as uncomfortable as it was palpable.
Max matched Greg’s stare without blinking. The thought of leaving again flashed into his mind but was quickly replaced by the fact that despite how much he disliked Greg, there was an innocent boy somewhere in the house who needed help.
Invitation To Evil: A Max MacAulay Novel Page 3
