by Glenn Porzig
"Yes. That's right," she answered.
"Oh, I was afraid I'd get this call eventually. Things have been heating up... lots of activity. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Nothing really surprises me anymore, these are truly the end times."
"Heating up?"
"I suppose you'll be needing it now? He said you would, if the beast ever returned for you."
"I'm sorry, Father, I don't follow you."
"The demon, dear girl, he said the demon wasn't ordinary..."
"What do you mean by that?" she asked.
"Like the Archangels, this fallen one is, how you say it? A higher rank... a Knight of Hell."
"How do I even face something like that?"
"It's okay Sister, Father Martin believed in you. Be strong. I'll have it sent right over. Be expecting a courier at your convent. Guard the relic with your life, it's irreplaceable. Just remember, it can only be wielded by someone with true faith."
And with that he hung up, leaving Marian with more questions than answers.
***
The music could be heard outside, before the doors to the bar even opened. Black boots, black jeans, black T-shirt and a black leather jacket. Lee Miller walked in with an attitude like he owned the place. With his shoulder length hair, and 5 o'clock shadow, he looked like he just stepped off stage from playing with the band.
Jenna Hutchings saw him immediately. He was a bad boy and she knew it. But more importantly... he looked familiar. He may have been a few years older than her, but she knew him from somewhere, and she wasn't about to let any of the other girls beat her to going home with a celebrity.
Jenna walked up to Miller and smiled real big. "Do I know you from somewhere?" she asked as she fluttered her long false eyelashes. She was a redhead, Miller was in luck tonight.
"You probably saw me on TV," he replied coolly.
Her eyes opened wide and she said "I knew it! I knew you were a celebrity the moment you walked in here!"
Miller smiled, this was going to be easier than he thought.
"What's your name, darlin'?"
"Jenna, but my friends call me Jen."
"Well, Jen, I hope we can be friends tonight."
Some tequila, and a few shots later, and Jen was laying under a thrusting Lee Miller surrounded by candles on his basement floor. The candlelight glistened across the sweat of their bodies as his grunts and her groans echoed in the cool dark room.
Before long, he collapsed on top of her and they both passed out. When Jenna did finally wake up, it was because she felt a tugging on one of her wrists. Her senses started to return to her, and she found that she couldn't move her arms... or legs. Panic set in. She began to struggle, flopping her body around in an effort to break free.
"What the fuck, man? This isn't cool, I'm not into this bondage shit!"
Miller just stood there looking down at her, both of them still naked.
"I don't care if you are some sort of celebrity, this is some whacked out bullshit! You untie me now, or I'm going to the police, you pencil dick pervert!"
Miller spread his arms wide and then his body shook violently, his eyes rolled up in his head and then it lolled forward like his neck was broken. Suddenly he stiffened, his head snapped up and he smiled... his eyes were now soulless.
"You've been wonderful tonight Jen... if I can still call you that. But there's one more thing I'll be needing from you..." the possessed Lee Miller knelt down, and when he stood again he was holding a large knife that glinted in the candlelight, "...your soul!"
***
"Thanks for meeting me," said Sister Marian. Across from her was Alexander Drake. They were sitting in the diner again. It was late at night, and the place was nearly empty, so they were able to speak freely.
"You know, I'm always there for you Marian. What did you want to talk about?" he asked.
"They say confession is good for the soul... I just felt you deserved to know."
"Know what? What's bothering you?"
"I'm responsible," she said.
"Responsible for what?"
"For everything, the murders... everything."
"Don't be crazy, you can't let guilt take over... you weren't in control," Drake said.
"No, I need to tell someone—it was all my fault. All of it. I killed those people, I killed them all," she sobbed.
"You're not making any sense. We both know what happened. It wasn't you," he pleaded as he reached out across the table and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"It was. It was me. I started it all. Their deaths, their blood—is all on me."
"What are you talking about?"
"When I was a girl... I was really close with my grandmother. She died when I was only twelve. I had trouble coping. I became introverted... withdrawn. My parents were worried about me. They knew I always loved Halloween so they arranged for me to go to another girl's house for a party. Vanessa. She was thirteen, already a teenager. She had this silly board game. A spirit board. She said you could use it to talk to the dead."
Marian clasped her hands together and stared down at the table. Drake took his hand from her shoulder and placed it over her hands.
"We were just kids, goofing around. There was no way this board game could work. No way we could really speak to the spirit world. But we did." She looked up into Drake's eyes.
"We spoke to someone... some... thing. I was astonished that it really worked. I believed I could use it to speak with my grandmother again. Vanessa was kind of freaked out that the thing worked at all. So, when I asked to borrow it, she said I could just keep it. I snuck it home in my bag, my parents were religious, I knew they wouldn't approve."
"You were just a kid," Drake said.
"On my thirteenth birthday I used the spirit board to speak with my grandmother. I thought it was my grandmother. Whatever it was... it latched on to me. Spoke to me. Gained my trust. Made me believe that it wanted to help me. It... told me to do things."
Marian looked away, she couldn't bear to see the look in his eyes when she said what she was about to say next.
"It was a demon and I invited it to stay. Did you hear me? I invited it to stay... it's all my fault that they died!"
***
Sister Mary Francis was just finishing up folding the freshly washed linens when she heard a violent knocking on the convent door. Concerned, she hurriedly made her way down the stairs to the entrance.
Outside was a nervous looking man. He was fidgeting, impatiently waiting for the door to be opened. He had long unkempt hair, and a days growth of a beard. She hesitantly opened the door.
"May I help you young man?"
"I'm looking for a Sister Mary Francis. I was told I would find her here," he said.
"I'm Mary Francis," the nun answered.
"Sister Marian said I needed to come and get you..."
"Sister Marian, is she all right?"
"She's had an accident, Sister. She asked me to bring you right away."
"Oh, my goodness. Is it serious?"
"You'd better hurry, Sister."
Miller reached out and took her by the arm. His insistence made her start to question his story. She pulled the door closed behind her as she followed him to the parking lot.
"Did she have a wreck? Which hospital is she at?"
"Just follow me, Sister, you'll see her soon enough."
"Where is your car?" she asked, as she began to pull away from him. But she couldn't break his ever tightening grasp.
"I like it when they struggle," he snickered.
Sister Mary Francis kicked him in the shin without warning, her heel sliding down to stomp on his foot as she pushed away with all of her might. Just like Sister Marian had taught her. Her small figure went falling backwards, away from the man.
He looked down on her and let out a low, guttural growl. His eyes rolled back and his body shuddered. She recoiled in fear.
"Now that wasn't very nice. What is it with you nuns?"
He knelt d
own and pinned her wrists to the pavement.
"I'm just here to take you for a ride, heh." he said, leaning over her and staring into her eyes. He began opening his mouth wide, and inching his face closer to hers.
Sister Mary Francis, turned her head away from him, her lips pressed together firmly. Deep down she knew the truth of what was happening to her, what she was facing. But her rational mind was struggling to cope with the reality of the situation.
"It only hurts at first, I promise," the demon inside of Miller said, as it leaned in to kiss the struggling nun.
She ceased to struggle, instead she began silently praying. She knew that she didn't have the physical strength to resist this man who was younger, bigger, and stronger than her. But she did have the the inner strength.
The demon slipped out of the form of Lee Miller and into the body of Sister Mary Francis. Miller's body went limp and fell onto her. She pushed him off, and his vacant body rolled to the side. He tried to sit up in his new vessel, but she wouldn't let him.
"What is this? Looks like you have some fight left in you after all," the demon struggled to speak though her tight lips.
"I am older, and stronger, than you can imagine. I have lived inside of countless mortals, you cannot resist me!"
The demon inside her body moved to stand, but it was as if an army of angels was tugging against her limbs. The demon was making little progress. Growing tired of her resistance, he changed tactics.
"I see that I am uninvited, and that your faith is strong. But, I will not leave empty handed. No, before I go I will read you like a book. Maybe you have something that will help me... yes, that's it. The one that got away! How could I have not known? You were so worth the effort, Sister. Oh, this is going to be fun!" and with that he was gone.
Sister Mary Francis felt drained, the struggle had taken much out of her, both physically and emotionally. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye. It was Lee Miller. His body convulsed. He impossibly stood straight up, like a marionette being lifted by its strings, and began walking away. Laughing.
***
The morgue doors swung inward as Detective Drake pushed his way through. He looked tired, disheveled, and more than a little irritated. Getting a call from your ex-wife will do that to you.
"I got your message, what do you have?" his deep voice grumbled.
"You're not going to like this. They pulled a body out of a dumpster early this morning. Female, red hair, early twenties," Angela said soberly.
Drake walked over to the pale nude corpse laid out on the table face down. "Go on," he said.
"There are signs of ligatures around the wrists and ankles. The body appears to have been completely drained of blood." She walked over and placed a hand on the dead girl's shoulder. "This is what I thought you'd be most interested in," Angela said as she carefully flipped the body over, "she lost her heart."
Drake stared down silently into the dark cavity where the victim's heart had once been. Not victim... sacrifice, he thought to himself. He looked up at Angela.
"You won't find the heart. My best guess is he gave it up as a burnt offering to whatever dark thing he serves. I think we're dealing with some powerful ritualistic stuff," he said.
Angela frowned, as she always did when he brought up the paranormal. She didn't like that he talked about it so matter-of-factly.
"Why wasn't I called to the crime scene?" he asked.
"They said this didn't fit the M.O. of the Reid murder case you were busy with, and they didn't want to distract you. So they processed it without you."
"Damn. Did you find anything? Any physical evidence that might help us track down the killer?"
"Nothing so far. There was no blood at the scene, so she wasn't killed there. The body appears to have been washed clean before it was dumped, but there's a lot of garbage that they still have to sift through," she said.
"They won't find anything, if he took the time to drain the blood and wash the body then he's covering his tracks."
"There is one thing. I'm doing a rape kit on her. There was some evidence of brutal sexual intercourse... we might get lucky with some DNA," she offered.
"Get on that. But how many more will die before we get the results back? And the perp might not even be in our database. Still, anything is worth a shot at this point," he looked at her with a slight smile. "Thanks for calling me in."
She smiled back at him. "I know how caught up you get in your work. Try to get some sleep... and be careful out there."
***
Sister Marian returned to the convent to see her dear friend collapsed on the cold pavement, unmoving. Sister Mary Francis was in a fetal position and appeared dead. Marian gently reached out to touch her cold frail form. To her surprise the elder nun stirred to life, her eyes fluttering open.
"Thank God," Marian uttered, a tear forming in her eye.
"Marian..." the name weakly escaped from the nun's thin lips.
"I'll call an ambulance," said Marian as she gently lifted her friend's head from the hard parking lot. Sister Mary Francis turned her pale face toward Marian and pleaded with her.
"Don't go... not yet. I must tell you..."
"Shhhh, save your strength."
"You must know... he came here, tried to take me... but he couldn't..." she muttered.
"Who came here? Who did this to you?" Marian asked.
"The one from your childhood, the evil one... tried to possess me, but I wouldn't let him!"
"I'm so sorry, this is all my fault."
"No! He came for your innocence... came to torment you. You must be strong, keep the faith..."
"Please, let me get you help. Wait here while I..."
"Don't go. Not yet... I have to tell you. I couldn't stop him, he looked in my mind... he saw... he saw her!
Marian's eyes got wide as she looked down at her friend's gaunt face.
"He saw the one that got away..."
"No!" exclaimed Marian as she started to rise. Sister Mary Francis reached up with her weak hand, she pulled Marian back down close and whispered in her ear.
"In your room... a package... from the Vatican. Godspeed, Marian."
***
THEN
Father Martin had been woken in the middle of the night by Officer Drake. He had quickly gathered his tools and mustered Brother Jamie to drive him. Upon arriving, he witnessed the horror that had unfolded in the house.
A bloody young girl sat handcuffed to a chair by the officer that had found her, surrounded by the bloody corpses of the family she had murdered. It was a horrific sight, even for a priest that had served as a chaplain during the war.
Brother Jamie was obviously spooked. He couldn't take his eyes off of the blood soaked adolescent girl with the white soulless eyes.
"Can you help her, Father?" asked Officer Drake.
"It is in the hands of God, I am but his humble servant."
The girl spat at the priest and then returned Brother Jamie's stare.
"Like what you see? Let me free and you can do what thou wilt."
Jamie turned away, embarrassed.
"Don't let it get to you boy. You are here to do the Lord's work!" Father Martin said as he pulled a bottle of Holy Water from his case, uncorked it and flung its contents at the girl.
Her skin burned where the Holy Water touched it. She struggled, squirming, and straining against the cuffs. She hissed at the priest.
Father Martin made the sign of the cross over the girl. Her eyes were white, glazed over, they darted back and forth erratically.
"Pray with me Jamie, you too, Alex," said Father Martin as he pulled out a small prayer book.
"You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday."
Father Martin then pulled out a small cross and placed it against her forehead. It burned her flesh where it touched. She wr
ithed around, hissing at him, and crying out in pain.
"Father, you're hurting her," pleaded Brother Jamie.
"Be strong Brother, it is not the innocent girl that burns but the evil that resides within her. Evil that is powerless against Christ Almighty!"
The girl began to rock back and forth violently in her chair. Suddenly, the wooden chair lifted from the floor and hovered in the air a few moments before slamming down so hard the joints began to weaken.
"Alex, grab the chair! Hold her down!" Shouted Father Martin.
Drake rushed over behind the possessed girl and pushed down on the back of the chair. It took all of his might to keep it from lifting off the floor again.
Mary began cursing them in Latin, her voice deep and unearthly. She abruptly stopped, and smiled evilly. She stared directly at Father Martin, as if challenging him. Suddenly the heads of the dead bodies of her mother and father turned toward the priest. Still crucified on the wall, their eyes stared blankly at him, their mouths opened in silent screams.
Father Martin splashed her again with the Holy Water and she shrieked. The heads fell limp, thudding against the wall. Once again she spat at the priest, but he continued reading from the Roman Ritual.
Suddenly, the girl went limp. The chair came to a rest on the floor, no longer straining against the officer's grip. Her head lolled forward as if she were unconscious. Brother Jamie hesitantly approached her. He reached out to lift her chin and look into her eyes.
"Father, I think you have succeeded!" he exclaimed before crying out in pain. The girl's eyes had snapped open and she had clamped down hard, biting his hand. He recoiled, pulling his bloody hand back.
"I have something special in store for you Brother. I'll take my time... when I skin you alive!"
"Don't fall for the demon's tricks, or listen to its hollow threats! Be strong in your faith and conviction! You wear the armor of God and He walks with you!" shouted Father Martin. He then continued in Latin.
"Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde,
in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis,
et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus,
Domini et Judicis nostri,
et in virtute Spiritus Sancti,
