The Exorsistah

by Claudia Mair Burney

  Penny Pop asked me to wait, but I told her I didn’t have that kind of time. It was almost evening now. And I was in Inkster, where too many people knew me and knew that my mama was locked up. I had to get my bearings and figure out where I’d spend the night.

  Penny Pop said she wanted to give me something, but instead of waiting for her to return, I slipped out the back door so I wouldn’t have to pass Francis, Mother Nicole, or Ricky Ricardo. I was halfway down the street when I heard my name.

  Francis.

  I kept walking.

  “Wait up,” he shouted, tearing down the street after me.

  I didn’t.

  He came trotting beside me like a colt before I knew it. He wasn’t even panting.

  What was the point in trying to outrun someone who would obviously catch me anyway? I stopped.

  “What?”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “You’re just gonna leave without saying good-bye?”

  “I told Penny Pop to tell you ’bye.”

  He gave me the golden eyes, looking all fine and bright. “You’re leaving me? After all we’ve been through?”

  Despite the fact that I felt defensive, he was so charming he actually got a smile out of me. But I couldn’t act like the old man hadn’t gone off on a sistah. “Obviously the good reverend has a problem with me. I ain’t tryna be no place else I ain’t wanted. I, like, been dealing with that since I was twelve.”

  He took my hand. “It’s not that, Emme.”

  “I don’t have to speak Spanish to know I’m a problem.”

  “I talked to him. It’s okay now.”

  “Not for me.”

  I started walking again. Not that it kept him from joining me.

  “You surprised him, that’s all.”

  “Why, because you brought a girl home, Mr. Priest Wannabe?”

  He didn’t turn his gaze away from me. “I knew Miss Penny would tell you that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s complicated, Emme.”

  “It’s not a secret, is it? I mean, you told me about your mama and daddy being Catholic and that you were being initiated or whatever. You told me yo’ daddy broke yo’ mama’s heart. You could have told me you want to be a priest. What if I was diggin’ you? You ever think about that?”

  “I told you I’m too old for you.”

  “You liked it, Francis. Didn’t you? You ain’t gotta answer, because I know you enjoyed flirting.”

  He didn’t answer. Now he did look away. “Come back inside where we can talk. Please.”

  “You’re playin’ games.”

  “I’m not. Let’s go inside where we can talk in private.”

  I snatched my hand out of his. “I’m gettin’ away from here. From you and Father Ricky Ricardo and your whack demon obsession. I don’t need this. A’ight?”

  “You do need a place to stay where you’ll be safe.”

  “It looks like this ain’t that place.”

  I picked up speed to get away from him. And that was supposed to be that, because my soul was tired. I didn’t have time for anybody’s crazy agendas. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours, but already it seem like somebody was tryna use me. I didn’t have anything left. I took a few weary steps away from him. Then he said it.

  “Emme! What if I said I need you? I want you to stay. Not just for the work.”

  I stopped. “Why do you need me, Francis? Why should I stay?”

  He paused. Looked at the ground, thinking. Struggling. When he finally spoke, it didn’t clarify anything. “I just do. I don’t know what else to say.” He looked at me, his eyes searching. “You’re ev—” He shook his head, not finishing his sentence.

  “You talk a blue streak any other time, brotha. W’sup with you now?”

  “I need you, and we’re good together. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Define ‘together,’ Francis.”

  “We were good together in that store. Don’t you wanna see what the possibilities are? What God can do through us serving Him as a team? Everybody who loves God wants to do His will. You can’t tell me the thought doesn’t appeal to you.”

  He had a point. But … “I ain’t tryna do anything with demons.”

  “Then don’t. That’s not the only way to serve God. I said I wouldn’t force you.”

  “What was that old man shouting about?”

  “He’s trippin’. He always thinks I have some kind of ulterior motive. Stay a few days. Rest up. Think this through. That’s all I’m asking for. You can’t beat that. Can you?”

  “What do you want from me, brotha, if you know I ain’t about to get on your team?”

  “I’m trying to do the works of Jesus. Remember, I’m supposed to be taking care of his little one. Let me help you.”

  “I’m supposed to believe you just want to do God’s work? Something not demon-related. I saw all those crazy demon books in your room. You’re the dang-gone demon hunter. That’s why you asked me about that book in Walgreen’s.”

  “I have those books because I work with an exorcist and I want to understand what we do. And if you wanna know the truth, I don’t do much. I’m the muscle. I hold people down when they’re going crazy with demon strength. I don’t even get to do as much as we did in the store. So it ain’t all that. Can you come back inside? Father Miguel calmed down. Emme, I wouldn’t let anybody hurt you, including him. I only thought you could help because the case we’re about to work on involves a teenager. Same age as you. She needs help, but if you’re not the person to do that, it’s okay.”

  Again, I searched his eyes. It didn’t look like he was tryna play me. “Okay,” I said.

  A wide smile spread across his face, the dimple appearing. “Cool. Shall we?” He motioned with his head toward the house.

  I went back with him. Despite how leery I was, I didn’t have a better option.

  When we got back inside, I could almost see the tension like I could demons. He happily chatted while we trekked down the hall—like I’m all ready to sign up for whatever.

  He noticed my lack of enthusiasm.

  “Can we just talk about the work? No pressure. I never had a friend interested in this stuff that wasn’t an old white person.”

  “You still don’t have one.”

  He ignored my dis.

  “I’m hoping the bishop will expedite the process of approving the exorcism of this girl, or Father Miguel is gonna be too sick to perform the rite. Plus she’s in bad shape. Her parents are through. They’ve done all they could with the little they have. Can’t get much help for anything when you’re broke and living in the hood.”

  He spoke so fast it sounded almost like he said it all in one breath. “Father Rivera and I don’t agree on a lot of things. Actually, we don’t agree on most things. I believe in the priesthood of all believers. He stands by tradition with a big ‘T.’ And I see his point. But you know, God works through and then beyond tradition. I’m trying to figure out what God is doing next. What will the next-generation exorcist look like?”

  He squeezed my hand. “Maybe they’ll be an exorsistah in the future.”

  “As long as it ain’t me.”

  “Stay open, Chirara. I had to have met you for a reason.”

  “It ain’t that reason.”

  He pulled me into the living room, halting our discussion.

  I tried to subtly pull my hand out of his, but he wouldn’t let go. I didn’t like that feeling. He knew I was a runaway. He said he could see what had happened with the men in my past. I thought he’d understand that I don’t like feeling like somebody is forcing me to do something. Especially when it comes to touching. I was tired of being manipulated by men, and I didn’t want somebody holding my hand when I didn’t want it to be held. But I didn’t want to cut a fool in front of his people. I had to talk to my inner self—“He’s holding your hand. That’s all”—to keep from goin’ off on him.

  He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Chi
ll, Emme. I know what your concerns are. I’m showing you that I’ve got you. It’s a unity move. That’s all.”

  I relaxed my hand and stopped resisting him.

  I looked up to see Father Rivera and Mother Nicole watching us. I couldn’t have been more self-conscious if I’d stepped onto the stage during amateur night at the Apollo.

  Mother Nicole sat by the old man on the sofa. I thanked God for that woman. Those hazel eyes shone with compassion for me, in contrast to Father Rivera’s suspicious gaze. His eyes were light too, almost like Francis’s, but more the color of amber. The kind you see bugs trapped for thousands of years in. I imagined myself stuck in those hard eyes.

  I nodded a greeting to them. The old man nodded in return. Mother Nicole said in stark contrast to our brusque mannerisms, “Hello, Emme. How did you sleep, lovie?”

  “I slept fine, Mother Nicole. Did your prayers go okay?”

  Her face lit up like she didn’t expect me to ask about that. “They sure did. I prayed for you, too. God assured me He had you in the palm of His hand.”

  “Thanks.”

  I turned my focus to the ground because something about the tenderness in her voice and eyes touched my heart when she said that. Man, I felt so weary. But I didn’t want them to see me go all soft, especially the old man.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Emme,” Francis said, and he gestured to the sofa next to Mother Nicole. He stood in the middle of the room and put his spin on my being there.

  “Father Miguel, once again, this is Emme Vaughn. She’s cool people, but things are a little rough for her. I’ve told you both a little about her, how I met her at Walgreens last night. I told you about the housing trouble she has right now and also about the extraordinary gift she has to see into the spirit world.” He turned to me. “Emme, maybe you can tell them more about it.”

  I cut my eyes at him.

  The old man spoke. “Do you have to coach her through this? Can’t she speak for herself?”

  Mother Nicole warned, “Father Miguel …”

  But he tore right into me, and not about being homeless. “What is this so-called gift, young lady?”

  I yanked on my emotional armor. “I never said I had a gift. Holla at yo’ boy about that.”

  “My boy?”

  Mother Nicole answered, “She means your friend, Miguel.”

  Father Miguel gave me another verbal nudge. Or push. “Come, come now. Don’t be modest. I don’t think Frank would have brought you here if he didn’t have some ridiculous notion about you being involved in our work. Or is there some other reason he had you in his bed, Miss Vaughn?”

  Mother Nicole said more firmly this time, “Miguel!”

  I decided to let that go for Mother Nicole’s sake. Francis could tell that man was tickin’ me off though. He tried to reassure me with his eyes. “Just tell him how it works, Emme, so he can drop the subject and we can get on to the social justice stuff we’re supposed to be about because we’re followers of Christ.” He gave Father Rivera a hard look and me a kind one. “Okay, Emme?”

  I addressed Father Rivera. “I already told him I don’t know how it works. It’s like the veil between heaven and earth gets lifted, and I can see into spirit worlds. Why or how, I couldn’t tell you. Why don’t you ask God? Ain’t y’all ’sposed to be tight like that?”

  “You watch your tone with me, Miss Vaughn. This is my house.”

  “With all due respect, Father Rivera, I left your house a few minutes ago. I’m only here because Francis begged me to come back. And he said we weren’t gon’ deal with this.”

  Father Miguel paled. “He told you his name is Francis?”

  I decided not to give him all our secrets, and hoped Francis hadn’t. “How else would I know it?”

  He gave Francis a withering stare, which bro’ ignored like he did a good many of my questions.

  “What else did he tell you?”

  “That I could get some help here. Apparently, he was wrong.”

  Mother Nicole intervened. “This isn’t a war between you and Emme, Miguel. She’s just a teenager, and she needs help. She doesn’t deserve your completely unacceptable contempt. And Emme, Father Miguel isn’t a foster parent intent on exploiting you. He has concerns because he doesn’t know you. That’s understandable. You may want to soften that edge of yours.”

  God, forgive me.

  I felt bad. My mama raised me to respect my elders, but this man tripped on me from the first moment he looked at me, and my nerves were frayed. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, but I meant it.

  If Father Rivera felt bad, he didn’t offer a word of apology to let anybody in the room know it.

  Whatever.

  Mother Nicole gave me her attention. “So, Emme, it seems God wills this to happen as He sees fit?”

  I shrugged again. I’m sure I looked as sullen and surly as I felt. I didn’t want to talk about this. “I guess.”

  She rocked back against the cushions and adjusted herself. “I wonder if the spiritual disciplines would help her tune in to it more? Sharpen her spiritual antennae, so to speak.”

  This idea seemed to excite Francis. “That’s what I wondered, too!” He caught himself and tamed that enthusiasm. “But she doesn’t want to get involved with that ministry. I can’t blame her, but I couldn’t help but think if she did want to work with us, part of her training should be the classic disciplines. I thought we’d give her the total package: physical, spiritual, and emotional. It would be a whole new thing. Something we’ve never done.”

  “Too bad I ain’t gon’ do it,” I said.

  Concern shadowed Mother Nicole’s face. “I believe her instincts are spot on, Frankie. I know you think Emme is special, but that doesn’t mean she’s suitable for the work, even if she wanted to do it.”

  “And I don’t,” I said.

  He kinda blushed. “She is special to me, Mama Nic, and not just because she can see the spirit world. As far as the work is concerned, her gift …” He paused, looking buzzed on this idea of me working with them. “I’m sure we could find a way to integrate it.”

  Father Rivera broke in, shattering Francis’s excitement like somebody pouring ice water on him. “It sounds ridiculous! First of all, you don’t know if she really has this gift she says she has.”

  I sighed like the three of them had a habit of doing. “I ain’t say I had no gift. Okay?”

  Francis told Father Rivera, “I’ve seen her operating this gift.”

  I didn’t appreciate them talking about me like I was in the kitchen somewhere with Penny Pop.

  Father Rivera turned to me. “You don’t know what you saw,” he challenged.

  I tried to keep my respect in order, when what I really wanted to do was slam him. I held my tongue. Francis didn’t.

  “But, for real, I saw—”

  The old man ranted on at Francis. “And now you parade her around here like it’s even possible that she could be an exorcist. What does the Church believe, Frank?”

  “That only priests can be exorcists.”

  “And who can perform exorcisms?”

  “Priests, and only with the express permission of a bishop.”

  “And who does that leave out?”

  “That leaves out anyone who isn’t a priest with a bishop’s blessing, including the teams of believers I’ve been talking about. And women. And me, sir.”

  For a sick person, Father Rivera didn’t have any problem administering a smackdown.

  “Then get these romantic notions out of your head. Exorcism is an ugly business. You know that, Frank. I never wanted anything to do with it, myself. It’s bad enough that you want to be a priest. Why can’t you just enjoy being a young man? Even as insolent as she is, I’d rather you be taking her out to dinner instead of trying to get her involved with casting out demons. Let old men do what old men do. And priests do what priests do.”

  Mother Nicole jumped in the conversation. “He’s right, Frankie. It’s not that we don’t
appreciate you. Father Miguel has needed you in these last few cases more than ever. But she’s young, very thin, and unseasoned.”

  The old man looked me up and down like I was nothing. Less than nothing. He spoke to Francis. “She can’t do us any good. That you even considered her should be an affront, even to her.”

  “She’s gifted,” he said, tryna stay cool. “I know she’s thin. That ain’t a sin! She’s malnourished from fasting like one of the desert Ammas and not having a place she felt safe enough to eat.”

  “Then take a few days, feed her, and get her out of here.”

  Francis thrust his hands in his pockets, shook his head, and smiled, like this was some kind of power game they played at.

  He rocked on the heel of his Timbs. “I can take her somewhere, but I’ll go with her ’cause she’s on my watch now. And I don’t leave vulnerable sistahs hangin’.”

  The priest didn’t say anything. Dude just scowled at Francis. And me.

  Francis turned to me. “I’m thinkin’ you can stay as long as you need to, Emme,” he said. “The good father didn’t say anything against us, so I’ma take that to mean he’s for us.”

  With that he grabbed my hand again, and we made a grand exit.

  I followed Francis through the narrow hallway of the bungalow and into a small bedroom he must’ve been using for storage. Musical instruments propped on or against boxes stacked halfway up the wall: guitars—acoustic and electric—and a couple of basses. Some funky-looking electronic drum. Mama, Papa, and Baby Bear—size amplifiers. Bro’ was serious about his music.

  “Dang, boy,” I said. “You got everything up in this piece.”

  “Naw. Not everything, but I’m workin’ on it.”

  “How come you don’t keep your instruments in your bedroom? From the looks of your room, I wouldn’t have even thought you were a musician.”

  “I sleep in my room. Read. If I took an instrument in there, I’d end up staying up all night.”

  A bow-back country stool sat in the center of the room. He pulled it to the side and motioned for me to have a seat.