by Jon Skovron
After Rob is gone, Ms. Spielman gives Jael a little smile.
“He’s a nice boy,” she says.
“Yeah,” says Jael, blushing.
“Everything okay?” she asks. “I didn’t see your father in the lounge this morning.”
“Oh, sure, yeah,” says Jael. “I think he took the day off for some reason.” To pack.
“Jael,” says Ms. Spielman, then she stops for a second and just looks at her. “If you ever want to talk to someone, I’m here.
Sometimes it helps to have a . . . female perspective.”
“Oh, uh thanks, Ms. Spielman. I definitely will. Uh, if I need to talk about anything.”
Ms. Spielman doesn’t quite seem satisfied with this brush-off. She frowns a little, then reaches out her hand as if to touch Jael’s cheek. But she stops short.
“You have so much potential, Jael. Once you believe that, you’ll take off like a rocket. I promise.”
Jael forces a smile at her. “Okay, Ms. Spielman.” If she only knew what Jael is up against, she probably wouldn’t be that confident.
“Maybe,” says Ms. Spielman, “you feel as though no one really understands what you’re going through. What obstacles you have in front of you.”
“What?” says Jael. It’s like Ms. Spielman picked the thought from her head.
“Jael, everyone feels that way sometimes,” says Ms.
Spielman. “It’s all right. If people only had the courage to admit it to each other, none of us would feel quite so alone.”
“Sure,” says Jael. She suddenly doesn’t feel comfortable in the room. “Thanks, Ms. Spielman. Have a good day.”
“You too, Jael,” she hears Ms. Spielman say as she walks out.
“Halloween,” says Father Ralph to his history class, “or All Hallows’ Eve.” He shifts his belt buckle, which is a cutesy cartoon version of a skull. “It exists in some form or another in just about every culture.”
Jael isn’t really paying much attention. Britt didn’t show up at lunch today. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s skipped school, but Jael wishes it hadn’t happened today. What if Jael doesn’t even get a chance to tell Britt that she’s leaving? Maybe she should have said something last night after all. . . .
“But,” continues Father Ralph, “Halloween wasn’t originally about monsters and demons.”
That word gets Jael’s attention.
“All Hallows’ Eve, Dia de los Muertos, or similar holidays,”
says Father Ralph, “are about those who have died. They are reminders to us all that the dead are always with us.”
There are some laughs scattered from the back, where Andy Link and his fellow soccer jocks sit.
“I don’t mean ghosts or zombies,” says Father Ralph. “The real haunting is the memory of a loved one. And driving away demons is symbolic of us attempting to drive away our own inner problems.”
Why does he keep using that word? Jael wonders.
“Why do ghosts frighten so many people?” says Father Ralph. “Is the concept of a spirit coming back from the dead inherently evil? Remember that for much of the Church’s history, the Trinity was known as the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. But now, it’s the Holy Spirit. So what happened?
When did the word ‘ghost’ become associated with evil?” He looks around the room. “Yes, Jack?”
There’s no one named Jack in Jael’s class.
She slowly turns around in her seat. In the last row of desks, she sees him. The guy from the bookstore with the long, wild black hair. But he looks as young as a high school kid now and he’s wearing a school uniform.
“Well, Father,” says Jack. He speaks in a casual, breezy tone, as if he’s lecturing the entire class, but the whole time, he stares at Jael with his piercing, light blue eyes. “The word
‘ghost’ became more and more associated with evil when society drifted away from a concrete concept of spirituality. As religion became more secularly regimented, the spiritual aspect of Christianity became threatening and alien. Indeed, many who consider themselves to be devoutly religious believe that the spirit realm doesn’t exist at all.”
“An excellent answer, Jack,” says Father Ralph. He and everyone else in the room is acting like Jack has always been in the class.
Jack continues to look at Jael, an ironic smile on his face.
Then he slowly winks at her.
“Jael, please face front and pay attention,” says Father Ralph.
“Sorry, Father.” She turns back around.
For the rest of the class period, the hair on the back of her neck prickles, like she can feel Jack’s blue-eyed gaze on her. She has to force herself not to squirm in her seat. Who is this guy?
Clearly he’s not just some bookstore guy and there’s some kind of magic going on. Is he a demon, or something else? He was really friendly at the bookstore, but now it feels like he’s messing with her. Maybe he figured out what she is. She did accidentally light a book on fire in the store, after all. He probably saw that.
But what does he want? She decides to corner him and get some answers at the end of class.
Finally, the bell rings and Jael turns back around.
But Jack is gone.
As the rest of the class files out, Jael stays behind, watching Father Ralph sort through some notes on his desk. After a moment, he looks up at her.
“Oh, hi, Jael,” he says casually, like he doesn’t remember how he couldn’t even look at her on Friday. “Thank you for replacing your book so quickly.” Then he goes back to his notes.
“No problem, Father,” says Jael. “Um . . . hey, Father?”
“Yes?” he says, still sorting through his papers.
“When did Jack start at Our Lady of Mercy?”
“Jack?” says Father Ralph. He looks up at her for a moment, frowns, and scratches his beard. “Sorry, Jael. I don’t think I know a Jack. Is he a freshman?”
Jael stares at him for a second, then says, “Uh, right.
Because there’s no one in this class named Jack.”
He gives her a strange look, like he has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. “Of course not.”
“Thanks anyway, Father.” Then she turns to go.
“Oh, Jael, wait a moment. I’m glad you stayed behind. I almost forgot.”
Jael turns back.
Father Ralph suddenly looks embarrassed. “This is a somewhat strange request, I know, but . . . Monsignor asked me to bring you by his office after class. He said there’s something very important he needs to talk to you about.”
“Oh,” says Jael. Mons. The Exorcist. A sudden sick fear shoots through her.
It must show on her face, because Father Ralph quickly says,
“You’re not in trouble. Or at least, I don’t think so. Frankly, I’m not sure I understand what it’s all about.”
“Okay,” she says.
“Don’t worry.” Father Ralph smiles. “I’ll be there to protect you from the mean old Mons.”
“Great,” says Jael and she forces herself to smile back.
Jael follows Father Ralph to the wing of the school where students are hardly ever permitted: the Residences. All three priests live there in studio apartments. A few old oil paintings of saints on the hallway walls, and a noticeable lack of classrooms, are the only indicators that this isn’t a regular part of the school.
But to Jael, entering the hallway feels like walking on forbidden ground.
“Monsignor or I will write you an excuse for your next class,” says Father Ralph as he leads her down the dim hallway.
Jael nods, but doesn’t trust herself to speak.
“Not that this will take long, I’m sure,” he says cheerfully.
Maybe he’s right. What if Jael is making too much of this? So what if the Mons used to be some exorcist. Would an exorcism even affect her? And anyway, it was a long time ago that he did that kind of stuff. Maybe he sensed something was off on Friday. That’s understanda
ble. But she’s got that a lot more under control now. He’ll probably just ask her some questions. All Jael has to do is be cool and play dumb, and he’ll probably let her go.
They’re at the door now. It’s made of a rich, dark mahogany with no window. Father Ralph knocks on the door. After a moment, she hears the Mons say in his peaceful voice, “Please enter.”
See? The Mons sounds downright cheerful.
Father Ralph opens the door, then gestures for Jael to go in first. Despite her inner pep talk, adrenaline crackles in her veins and she walks into the room with a stiff, self-conscious gait. It’s dim and stuffy inside. The only furniture is a desk, a small couch, and a bookshelf. One small window lets in the feeble light from outside through old plastic blinds.
Standing next to the window is Britt. She looks at Jael, her mouth set in a hard line.
“What are?—” Jael starts to say. Then the door slams shut behind her and she hears a dead-bolt click. She turns back and sees Father Ralph by the door, looking very confused and flustered. Next to him is the Mons, dressed in his full priest getup: the robe, the scarf, the whole deal, like he’s ready to say Mass. Except the look in his eyes is not the one she sees when he prays for the sick and dying.
“Jael Thompson,” he says in a booming voice, his face grim and determined. “Father Ralph, your dear friend Brittany, and I are here, with the grace of God, to help you.”
Jael glances back at Britt, searching her face for some sign that she might be humoring the Mons. Maybe even that she thinks it’s a joke. But the look Britt returns is absolutely serious.
She turns back to the Mons. “Monsignor?” she says lightly.
“I don’t understand. I don’t need any help.”
“That is because you cannot see what we see. You cannot see the forces of darkness that have enthralled you.”
“Wait,” says Jael, “is this an intervention?”
“No,” says the Mons. “It is an exorcism.”
“What?” says Father Ralph, and turns to the Mons. “Francis, what are you talking about?”
“Look at her, Ralph,” says the Mons. “The poor girl is possessed by a demon.”
“Francis,” says Father Ralph. His eyes widen with alarm, but his voice is set in a forced reasonable tone. Like he can talk them all down to earth. “An exorcism? This is crazy, not to mention probably illegal. And I’m pretty sure the bishop would not—”
“The bishop,” says the Mons, “is a weak, officious worm who has less faith than an atheist.”
“Francis, what’s gotten into you?” asks Father Ralph, his voice laced with panic now. “Listen to yourself. You sound like some kind of raving zealot.”
“No, Ralph,” says the Mons. “I sound like a true man of the Church. And if you can’t see the cancerous evil pouring out of this girl, then you are no priest at all.”
Father Ralph just stares at him, utterly lost. Jael can see it in his eyes. He didn’t join the priesthood for titanic battles of good versus evil. He just wanted to help people. He’s way out of his depth and he knows it.
The Mons turns back to Jael, and she can see in his eyes that it was precisely titanic battles of good and evil that brought him to the priesthood. And he is ready to throw down.
“My child,” he says is a stern voice, “we are here to save your soul from the wicked monster that has invaded you.”
“Monsignor, I still don’t know what you’re talking about,”
says Jael. “I’m not possessed by any monster.”
“Jael,” says Britt. “We’ve all seen the way you’ve changed over the past week. I didn’t understand what was going on until Monsignor talked to me about it this morning. That was why you kept talking about witches last night. You were calling out to me for help and I just didn’t understand. So let Monsignor help you. He’s your only hope for salvation.”
Jael wants to tell her that she’s a traitorous bitch, then maybe throw her through the window. But this isn’t the time for that. She takes a deep breath and turns back to the Mons.
“I don’t believe in any of this stuff,” she says, unable to keep the tension from her voice.
“If you believe none of this is true . . .” The Mons looks at Father Ralph and Britt while he talks, as if they are his audience.
“If you don’t believe in demons and the vile powers of darkness, then you have nothing to fear.” He turns back to Jael, his old eyes as hard and cold as steel. “If you have nothing to hide, why not go through with it?”
“Fine, whatever,” Jael says, striving for indifference, but sounding a bit too shrill.
“Jael,” says Father Ralph. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He looks at her pleadingly, like he wants her to back down.
Instead she looks at the Mons. “Say your stuff.”
He nods, and turns his gaze to Father Ralph. “You can leave if you like,” he says in an almost mocking tone.
“No, Francis,” says Father Ralph. “I’ll stay. I won’t leave you alone with these girls. And I warn you, if I see anything inappropriate or dangerous happen, I’ll be calling the police.”
“The police will not be of much help, I’m afraid. But stay if you like. Perhaps you will yet have the opportunity, by the grace of God, to see the truth.” He turns back to Jael. “I’m glad you have consented. Now, please sit on the couch. Someone who is in the throes of exorcism often flails around, and I want to minimize the injuries you might inflict on yourself.”
“Sure,” says Jael. She sits down on the small couch, trying without much success to look relaxed. It’s just like Mass, she tells herself. Except she doesn’t have to kneel the whole time.
The Mons takes two leather straps and fastens one on each arm of the couch.
“Hold out your hands,” he says.
“Francis, you’ve got to be kidding!” says Father Ralph.
“The couch is for her protection,” says the Mons. “These straps are for ours.”
“You really do believe this nonsense,” says Father Ralph, shaking his head, his expression somewhere between amazement and disgust.
“I believe because I have seen pure evil incarnate,” says the Mons. “I have been face-to-face with the darkness, and I know what it is capable of. When the demon takes hold, I don’t want Brittany in any danger.”
"God will protect me,” says Britt.
The Mons turns to her, a bitterly amused smile on his face.
“God’s will is unknowable.”
Britt flinches and lowers her head.
The Mons turns back to Jael. “Your hands, please.”
Jael can feel her body instinctually heat up. That’s the last thing she needs right now, so she asks the air around her to cool her off. But she’s too agitated and the air goes overboard.
The temperature of the room drops so rapidly that frost rims the window and everyone’s breath turns to fog as it leaves their mouths.
The Mons looks around, but doesn’t seem surprised. He just holds out the straps and says, “Your hands. Quickly.”
Jael holds out her hands and she can’t stop them from trembling. The Mons sees it immediately. He looks her in the eye and says, “I cannot tell you that there’s nothing to fear.
Because that would be a lie.”
“Jael,” says Father Ralph. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
Her mouth is so dry, it takes a few swallows before she can say, “Yeah. Do it.”
The Mons nods and fastens the straps around her wrists and pulls them tight so that she can’t lift her arms. Then he steps a few feet back. He looks at Britt and Father Ralph. “From this point, you must obey my every command if we have any chance to save this girl. Now”—he pulls out a small black prayer book from under his robes—“let us begin.”
He holds the book in front of him and reads in a loud, deep voice, “Holy Mother of God!”
Britt and Father Ralph respond with, “Pray for us.”
“Holy Virgi
n of virgins.”
“Pray for us.”
“Saint Michael.”
“Pray for us.”
“Saint Gabriel.”
“Pray for us.”
The funny thing is, it really does seem like Mass. It goes on and on, just like the Petitions, and it slowly builds up a lulling rhythm. Little by little, Jael begins to relax. This isn’t so bad, she thinks. And what if the Mons really can get the demon out of her? Almost all of her problems gone in a poof. Is that really such a bad thing? Sure, she’d miss the little bit of magic she’s learned. And her uncle would be crushed. But maybe her dad would loosen up. Maybe they wouldn’t have to move. And there would be no Jack stalking her, and no worrying about Belial showing up out of nowhere.
Of course, she’d never be able to avenge her mother. In fact, if her mother was still alive, it would probably break her heart.
After all, it would be like Jael was rejecting her. . . .
Then an image forms in her mind of her mother. Not the dreamlike visions from the necklace, but something somehow dredged up from her own memory. She can see her so clearly: a woman with black, curly, tangled hair that frames a regal, brown face. Her sharp green eyes have a sadness to them, but there is a smile on her lips like she’s just about to laugh. She’s strong and fierce and beautiful. And she gave up her life so that Jael could live.
What happens to demons when they die? Maybe they go wherever mortals go. Maybe they return to the elements. Or maybe they burn into nothingness. For years, Jael has told anyone who will listen that she doesn’t believe in an afterlife.
That the whole concept is just stupid. But now, the idea that her mother simply does not exist grips her as if she were again staring into the infinite night sky. It’s too big for her to grasp and she starts to panic. She clings to the image of her mother like a life preserver. If nothing else, there is one place that her mother exists. In her.
But then the guilt crashes down on her. Because only a few moments before, Jael wanted to get rid of her mother and everything that went along with her as if her demon half was some kind of sickness. How can she reject the mother she has always longed for?
“I cast you out, unclean spirit!” the Mons yells.
