I sat and watched him get busy, moving from acoustic guitar, to electric, back to acoustic, and finally settle on a bass. He plugged it into an amplifier, strapped it on, and started tuning it.
“Are you about to serenade me, Francis?”
“Naw,” he said grinning and tuning, “I might turn you out, chica, and then I won’t be able to get rid of you.”
“Yeah. I see how hard you been tryna get me out your life. You don’t wanna go Usher on me.”
“I’ma play bass for you.”
“I kinda figured that when you strapped the bass on.”
“Quiet, sassy girl.”
He didn’t just play that bass, though. He, like, became one with it. He made that bass an extension of himself, so that the music wasn’t coming out of the instrument. He was the instrument. And he didn’t stop there.
Aw, man. His music was, like, transcendent. I watched in openmouthed awe as he plunked, plucked, and picked at the strings in a way that must’ve made the angels jealous. Francis caressed rhythms out of that baby that went right into the secret place in me where only God lived and once had visited. But I couldn’t even trip. The sounds of his music took me to heavenly places, and dang, that was just one bass.
When he stopped, the quiet almost offended me.
For a moment I couldn’t speak. He searched my face, for what I wasn’t sure. I think he was waiting for me to tell him what I thought, but I couldn’t find the words.
Finally he said, “Well?”
“I kinda see what you mean about the turning me out thing.”
He looked surprised for a moment. Then we both cracked up.
He got back to the bass, but not what he was doing before. He played the scales, repeating the same boring notes over and over.
“How long do you go through those scales?”
“I spend hours at it sometimes,” he said. “It’s like prayer. You do it long enough, it’s just natural when you have to do something deep. Like spiritual warfare.”
“Don’t start.” I shook my head. “Man. That would drive me crazy.”
“It drives Father Miguel crazy, too. I started doing it without the amp so he wouldn’t have to hear it, but right now, I’m not feelin’ the sensitivity to him. At least for a few minutes.”
“You play when you get upset, don’t you? It’s like that thing you do when somebody is tryna talk to you when you ain’t feelin’ it. You escape.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes I escape into the music in my head. So, it can be double trouble.”
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Much better,” he said. “Got my God, got my bass, got my exorsistah. A brotha don’t need no more than that right now.”
I chuckled. “Well, two outta three ain’t bad.”
Francis said, “What you talkin’ about, girl? God is with me.”
“Father Rivera ain’t feelin’ no exorsistah.”
His fingers continued running scales. “I told you, he thinks I have motivations that I don’t have.”
“You brought some sistah he don’t know nothing about into his home. He probably thinks we’re up to no good.”
“It’s not that. He knows me. If I was gon’ do something like that, I’d leave. I wouldn’t disrespect his house. This is complicated, Emmy. Don’t sweat it.”
I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, so I let him play without pressing the issue. He must’ve wanted to keep me talking though.
“You play any instruments?” he asked.
“I wish. I do a little spoken word to beats. It ain’t nothin’ like what you doin’. You don’t get a chance to do work on that level when you get tossed around a lot. I’m surprised you got to be so good.”
“Yeah, well, I got tossed around with my guitar. I put a lot of time into this. And …” He looked embarrassed, and maybe a little bashful. “They say I’m a prodigy.”
“Are you?”
“I don’t know. I understand music. Always did. The language of it. I speak music, if you can get that. I’ve always been that way. It’s like how you see in the spirit world. You just do.”
“Francis. Don’t go there.”
I got up from the chair and explored the room while he played. Touched the boxes with names from companies that sell stuff like speakers. Beat boxes. I wondered what he had in those boxes.
My mind kept going back to why I was in that house. I felt a little sad. I knew this wasn’t gonna work out. Not for long, no matter how Francis flexed on the old priest.
“He ain’t Mr. Nice Guy is he, that Father Rivera?”
He shook his head, and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “He’s definitely not easy, but he has his moments.”
I sighed, picking up an acoustic guitar. Francis watched me, but not all paranoid like he didn’t want me messing around with his stuff. He looked curious.
I strummed a few strings. “Who does he think he is, anyway? Some kind of super priest? He got powers I don’t know about?”
“Nope,” he said, still playing the scales.
Scales were kinda gettin’ on my nerves, too.
He continued, “Those house slippers hide his feet of clay. But I can’t knock his experience. He’s a heckuva exorcist, and his results are some of the best in the game. I wouldn’t be working with him if he was whack. Or pushing for you to do the same.”
The more we talked about it, the more I knew my days of hangin’ with Francis were numbered.
“He doesn’t like me, and I ain’t crazy about him. It was a nice try, but he ain’t with your plan. It’s cool, though.”
“No, it’s not, Emme.”
“I’ll stay a couple of days, but I gotta dip after that, Francis.”
He stopped his relentless fingering of bass strings. Stood where he was, his golden eyes looking deeply into mine. My breath hitched.
“I want to share so much with you. Teach you the best things I know.” He leaned the instrument against a box. “I want to feed you all kinds of healthy food, teach you everything I know about prayer and the spiritual disciplines. I want to train you in martial arts. Even help you get your GED, if you want. I want to make sure you’re the baddest thing the kingdom of God has ever seen. Shield you against the nightmares that you’ve had to live through since you were a little girl. But I can’t do that if you leave.”
Shoot. That sounded kinda tight. Then something odd dawned on me. “Why would somebody on an exorcist’s team need to know martial arts?”
“Like I said, I’m the muscle. It takes a lot of strength and fortitude to work in deliverance ministry. And on the real, I think you’d be hot as a martial artist.”
I saw it. In my mind I was not just kickin’ devil butt. I was kickin’ a whole lotta butt. Starting with Ray.
Pow! Pow! Bam!
I put me a list together right quick: all the punks I was in foster care homes with that were just like Ray; Father Rivera—though I went easy on him ’cause Francis liked him, and he was sick; the girl who cut a big chunk of my hair out in the crazy house when I was twelve because she was bald-headed and jealous. I could even kick Francis’s butt when he got on my nerves. Or even when he didn’t. We could be like Daredevil and Electra in the movie, when they were fighting on that playground when they first met.
I got into my butt-kickin’ fantasy so deep I heard Francis’s voice, but not what he said to me. “I’m sorry. What?”
He had an amused smirk on his pretty face and now stared at me with one eyebrow raised. “Emme?”
“What, Francis?”
“Not only did I tell you my whole vision of the neo exorcist, I told you my big sob story of getting my GED despite the odds against me, and blah, blah, blah, none of which you heard. You missed me play the violin, while rain fell against the window and a single tear rolled dramatically down my cheek.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I already know exorcisms are physical, and you did not cry. It ain’t raining, either. I can’t
enroll in a GED completion program, Francis. They’d find me.”
“Emme, I said—which you obviously missed—that I did it on my own, and I’ll bet you could, too. Mother Nicole and I could prep you if you stayed. You don’t even have to take the test until after your birthday. You don’t have to be so scared. It’s not like the police are staking out the hood or throwing up roadblocks to find you. You ran away from a foster care home. You’re not on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.”
“I don’t care. They found me before, and it can happen again if I ain’t careful. This is Inkster. I grew up here. People know me. I ain’t tryna go back into foster care thirty-two days before I’m grown. I’ll hang with you a few days, but I’m not with the neo exorcist thing.”
“All right, Emme. I said I wouldn’t force you to do anything. Where you tryna go when you get legal?”
“That ain’t your concern.”
He stepped up to me, all manly and fine, making my heart rate rival what I bet that electronic drum of his could do. Got right in my face.
“It’s my concern now. You won’t be out there on your own if I can help it. I’m offering you room and board and an intensive spiritual journey that will give you skills you can use for the rest of your life, but if you won’t accept my offer I’ll still see you to safety somewhere else. I had hoped that since you’re Jamilla’s age, you could help her. I’m not sure how, but I got a feeling she’s not telling us everything. Sometimes girls tell other girls what they won’t tell anybody else. But she’s in God’s hands.”
My heart dropped so fast to my feet I thought it’d stay there permanently.
Jamilla?
He noticed my expression change. “What is it, Emme? Are you okay?”
Naw. It wasn’t Jamilla. Not my girl.
“Jamilla is her name?”
“Yeah.”
I searched my mind for anything he might have said about this girl. He mentioned we were the same age. Did he say she lived in Inkster? Dang. He hadn’t said much about her at all. Aw man! Why didn’t I ask him more questions?
My mouth went dry, and I swallowed what felt like a rock in my throat. I asked him one of the hardest questions I ever asked anybody, even though it was a simple one. I silently prayed he wouldn’t say what had to be impossible.
“What’s Jamilla’s last name?”
“Jacobs. Oh, snap! What was I thinking? You lived in Inkster. Maybe you know her.”
Oh, snap, my butt. He had to have thought about it. The town was too little, and I said I grew up here.
I put the guitar down and walked away from Francis and back to the chair. He didn’t follow me, but gave me a little space instead of hovering over me.
After some time I finally managed to say, “Jamilla Jacobs was my best friend. Since we were in the first grade.”
“Emme, I’m so sorry.”
Shoot. I was sorry, too. Because now I was staying for sure. If she was possessed, I was gonna kick that devil’s butt. I didn’t care what I had to do.
I sat there in that bow-backed chair, surrounded by boxes and instruments, looking crazy until Francis touched my hand.
“Don’t touch me!” I said “Just leave me alone.”
Francis backed off. “Sorry, Emme.”
“Are you sure it’s that? She’s possessed?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s sorta obvious. There’s no medical explanation for her symptoms, and our whole team agrees. We don’t take cases to the bishop unless we’re sure.”
He crouched down beside me but didn’t touch me. I could tell he felt as helpless as I did. He kept tryna talk to me. “It’s only a matter of time—a short time—and we’ll have the clearance and can do the exorcism. We’re very successful, Emme. I told you, Father Miguel is a great exorcist. One of the best.”
I couldn’t hide the anguish in my voice. “You said it can take months to cast out demons. And I can’t even imagine what she’s going through.”
“It doesn’t always take months. And we don’t think it’ll take that long. Father Miguel doesn’t have months.”
“What if it doesn’t work? I mean, look at that guy at Walgreens.”
“He ran out, Emme. Maybe he wasn’t willing. People are free to keep their demons if they want to, as bad as that sounds. Jamilla wants our help. Or she says she does.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She’s holding back something. I can feel it. Mother Nicole agrees. That’s one reason I thought you could help. Sistah to sistah. But I had no idea y’all were tight like that. That’s a blessing.”
“If I were actually on your team!”
“You can be.”
“With Father Cranky? Ain’t no way! Now, what the heck am I supposed to do?” I got up and began to pace.
“I don’t know. We can just work on it.”
“Even if Father Foul let me on the team, don’t forget I couldn’t even get a demon to jet from that man in Walgreens. And I had your help!”
“I told you sometimes it takes time. Some only go out through prayer and fasting, and sometimes that means a lot of prayer and a lot of fasting.”
My anxiety shot high as the ceiling. Man! I needed to see my girl. Badly. And to tell the truth, I wanted to see her without Francis. I didn’t want him tryna scope out if I could see the demon inside of her or do something. I didn’t have any skills, really. If I did, I’d have helped my mama. I only dealt with demons when I had to. And that was mostly to keep them away from me. I never really cast a demon out of a person. Not like no sho’ ’nuff exorcism. That thing in Walgreens showed me I wasn’t as big and bad as I thought I was.
Naw. Jamilla wasn’t possessed. This was all crazy. I was on the couch in Kiki’s basement asleep, and none of this madness was happening.
Only I wasn’t sleep. And I sho’ wasn’t at Kiki’s house.
Even if she wasn’t possessed, she must’ve been doing something to make him and his whole team think she was. Her parents must believe it too, if they were worried enough to get an exorcist involved with her.
What in the heck happened to Jamilla? She knew better than to get into Wicca or use Ouija boards and stuff. She wouldn’t be hangin’ with no psychics. She was a good girl. Did all the right stuff. She knew what I could see and didn’t want nothin’ to do with that. She knew about my mama. So w’sup with that?
Then I thought about my mama. She was a good person, too. She loved God the best way she could, like most of us. And look at her. Man! I ain’t wanna deal with this junk.
That dang-gone Francis! All I wanted was something to eat and a safe place to lay my head down. Maybe find some way to help him out as a DJ or something, and get me some kick-butt diva boots. How was I supposed to walk away now?
Francis annoyed me with his questions. “Are you all right?”
Was he serious?
“Heck-e-naw, I ain’t all right. You just told me my girl is possessed.”
“Do you want me to take you to see her?”
“No. I don’t. I don’t want you to do nothin’.” I tried to soften my tone. “Not right now. I need to be alone, Francis. I need to think.”
“Do you want to go somewhere? We can chill at the park or something.”
“I said I wanna be alone!”
I needed to chill. That sharp edge Mother Nicole got on my case for was about to slice Francis into julienne potatoes. But I was upset. I didn’t want to be with him or anybody.
“I don’t know if you should go anywhere alone.”
“I’m just gonna take a walk.”
He didn’t look like he was cool with that. “Let me go with you.”
“Stop pressin’ me, bro’. I don’t want you to go.”
Those gold eyes flashed with hurt. But he didn’t complain. He didn’t close up in himself and start rambling off whatever was in his brain like he did when he didn’t want to deal with stuff. Despite me trippin’, he was with me.
I tried to calm myself. Take some deep breaths.<
br />
As much as I didn’t want to be touched, I stopped my pacing and put my hand on his shoulder. He didn’t move. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you, Francis.” I took a few more deep breaths. “I know you’re tryna help me. I’m thankful for that. For real.”
I meant that. I really was grateful, and I realized a lot of my behavior was what my old psychiatrist would call “acting out.” To be honest, I was scared. Too much was happening too soon. “I’m just trippin’. Yo, my life seems to be imploding, and bro’, it wasn’t a great life to start with.”
“How can I help you?”
“I wanna take a walk. Move my body. Clear my head.”
“It’s gonna be dark soon. You promise you won’t stay out too late?”
“Promise.”
“And you’ll stay away from the hood.”
“The hood is across the parking lot, Francis.”
“Those aren’t the projects I’m talking about. I think you know that. I’ll take you to see her, Emme. You need to be prepared for what you’ll see if you go over there.”
“I just wanna walk. Okay?”
He didn’t press me, though I could tell he wanted to. “Don’t stray too far.”
“How can I? Inkster is only six miles square.”
He didn’t smile at my attempt at humor.
“Trust me, Francis. Like you asked me to trust you.”
“Okay. I’ll walk you to the door.”
True to his word, that brotha led me out of his practice room and through the house. I don’t know where Mother Nicole and Father Rivera were. I didn’t care, either. Only one person filled my thoughts.
Francis opened the door for me, and I trotted off the porch and headed the opposite direction away from the parking lot. I walked around the block, back onto Annapolis, and headed across Middlebelt Road to The Gardens—yet another infamous housing project in the little city, and the home of my girl, Jamilla.
I prayed hard as I walked. For both Jamilla and myself. With every paranoid step I took, I wondered if somebody would see me who knew me. I wondered if Antoine was still around, and what I’d do if I saw him. Then again, I hadn’t been to Inkster in a long time. Probably wasn’t nobody stud’in’ me anyway, including Antoine. If he was as smart as I thought he was, he would have busted up out of Inktown a long time ago. And now that I thought about it, even if somebody did say something to me, I didn’t have to tell them all my business. Nobody had to know I ran away.
The Exorsistah Page 9
