Ever see The Litany of Evil? Father Andara is the man who inspired that classic horror flick. Here was a man who sure as hell—pun intended—knew more about demons than the medieval hack whose unreadable gibberish was holding my Saturday hostage.
No wonder I scooped up the phone without hesitation.
"Father Andara, to what do I owe the honor?"
"Kane, a pleasure as always."
I hesitated, aware that this wasn't a social call. There is only one reason exorcists ring the Paranormalist. Andara needed my help.
Over the years, Father Andara and I had tackled several cases together. The exorcist wasn't like any priest I'd ever run into before. A former Marine turned soldier of God, the grizzled veteran had spent a lifetime facing down both human and demonic horrors.
Andara had stared into the abyss, and the abyss had blinked first.
He was an intimidating bear of a man who could out-drink and out-curse even the most hardened Hells Angel, but he went nowhere without a Bible in his pocket and a crucifix around his neck.
"Sorry to be calling on a Saturday afternoon,” the priest said into the brief silence. “I hope I'm not interrupting something."
"Not at all. I was just discovering the joys of the Codex Rabina."
"Sounds like you have even less of a social life than I do."
If you only knew, I thought as Vesper rubbed lotion on her arms while flicking me a seductive smile over her shoulder. Following our last case in Big Bear Lake, we'd taken our friendship into a more intimate territory—and let's just say neither one of us had gotten an entire night's sleep since then. The dam holding back a year's worth of sexual tension had burst, and so far, it had been bliss.
Distracting bliss.
I forced myself to look away, pull my thoughts out of the gutter, and focus on the voice on the other end of the phone.
"So what's the job, my friend?" I asked.
"How would you feel about joining six survivors of demonic possession and myself at a three-day spiritual retreat in the New Mexico desert?"
I cocked an eyebrow. Vesper must've picked up on my expression as she shot me a curious glance. I shrugged, and she got up to pour herself another glass of lemonade from the wet bar on the other side of the pool, hips swaying as she walked.
"I'm sorry, I'm not quite following you,” I said to Andara. “You want me to what?"
"I'm putting together a support group for folks whose demons I exorcised."
Father Andara had my undivided attention now. "I'm listening."
"I have saved countless souls over the years, Kane. An exorcism is only the first battle in the war for your soul. The possessed have gone to Hell and back. They struggle with horrific PTSD, succumb to depression, substance abuse, and often suicide. But perhaps we can perform the ultimate miracle, Kane. With a little luck, we can give them their old lives back."
It was all too easy to imagine the horror of having a demon in your head. I’d tackled my fair share of possession cases and could empathize. There would be no place to run or hide, no way to fight back. Demonic possession was the ultimate act of violation.
“Go on. You have my attention.”
"I've witnessed many survivors of possession succumb to addiction over the years, but I've also seen them flourish once they made a firm commitment to overcome their past. If AA can curb alcoholism, and support groups can help veterans overcome the horrors of war, why can't we achieve similar results with these victims of infernal possession?"
Why not, indeed?
Andara’s voice rang with conviction as he continued. "Many survivors of possession struggle to pick up the pieces of their lives. Once you've been torn apart from the inside out, it's almost impossible to ever feel whole again. The lucky ones seek solace in alcohol or drugs instead of eating a bullet. They spend a lifetime trying to rebuild themselves. More times than I’d like to admit, they simply cannot put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”
I nodded even though I was still doubtful. “What if these survivors don’t want to relive the worst day of their lives?”
"Some will be resistant to the idea, at least at first. But we can all benefit from a support network. Kane, these folks carry a heavy burden. They've experienced horrors beyond most people's imagination. No one else can relate to what they've been through. But you bring the survivors of possession together…"
"And they'll know they're not alone," I finished.
I still wondered if a few days of shared misery could banish the nightmares, but I held my tongue.
Andara pressed on. "Over the years, I've stayed in touch with the folks I've pulled out of the abyss. Some have fared better than others, but they all struggle to put the experience behind them. I'm hoping that sharing their pain might prove cathartic, and reveal a pathway towards healing."
"So how do I fit into this? You realize a demon has never possessed me."
"Are you so certain about that?"
The exorcist let the question hang in the air for a beat. I opened my mouth to argue, but he spoke before I could.
"I wasn't speaking literally, Kane. Demonic possession is a battle for the soul. I know how Mason Kane’s shadow looms over your life, but your father's evil doesn't define you. You fight the darkness, so you will never succumb to it the way your father did. From my perspective, your entire life has been a fight for your soul. You've exorcised your demons, Kane, and you did it without the help of a priest."
I gripped my cell until my knuckles stood out. Andara had never spoken to me like this before. Nobody had, in fact, but he was right. My father's dark legacy was the demon I'd been battling all my life.
"You understand more than anyone what these folks have gone through,” Andara continued. “You would bring a perspective that I think could inspire those who still haven't conquered their own pasts."
I took a deep breath, mind made up.
"Alright, you piqued my interest, Andara. Count me in."
"Splendid. If you need a break from the hustle and bustle of L.A., there’s no better place than the Monastery of the Savior in New Mexico."
My gaze shifted to Vesper, who now had her head buried in a trashy horror novel. How she could spend her free time reading about make-believe monsters was beyond me. I guess she found fiction to be weirdly therapeutic after battling the real thing.
"Any objection if I invite my assistant? Like myself, she's faced real evil."
A hard edge crept into the exorcist's voice. "I’d rather you didn't, Kane."
Father Andara's resistance caught me by surprise. "No offense to your assistant, but I sense your relationship might not be purely professional anymore."
I sighed. Busted. I guess it was that obvious.
"This retreat isn't Club Med,” he said. “It’s an active monastery. We’ll be spending our time engaged in prayer and silent contemplation. Three days of intense work lie ahead for us but by the end of that period, six souls will, I hope, be one step farther along on their journey to full recovery. And even you, Kane, might find a peace that has long been lacking in your life. So, what do you say?"
Vesper wasn’t going to like this, but the old priest sounded firm. "When are you hosting this retreat?"
"This coming Wednesday."
I shook my head and chuckled. "Thanks for the short notice."
"I'm sorry, Kane. This whole thing came together rather quickly. I hope the timing won't affect your decision.”
“The timing isn’t an issue,” I began, wondering how I was going to convince my intrepid assistant to sit this one out, but trailed off.
"Listen, use the afternoon to take it all in and at least consider it. I'll email you more information later today and a quick breakdown of the folks attending the retreat. It'll give you a chance to put some human faces on the whole thing. Once you learn who's coming and see what they've gone through, I trust you'll make the right decision. As a lifelong student of the paranormal, this is a rare opportunity for you."
I purs
ed my lips. The exorcist knew me so well. The world had nicknamed me the Paranormalist for a reason. Not only had I dedicated my life to fighting the forces of darkness, but I was also obsessed with the occult. For a long time it had been the only thing in my life that mattered to me. Then I’d met Vesper, and things had changed. The paranormal didn’t define my whole existence anymore, but Andara was right about one thing. I couldn’t resist the chance to talk to the survivors about their experiences.
“Send me the files,” I said.
"I'll be in touch, my friend." And with these words, Andara hung up.
I turned toward Vesper with a sigh. She raised her shades and eyed me expectantly.
"Let me guess. The world needs the services of Simon Kane?"
I nodded and told Vesper about my upcoming trip to the Monastery of the Savior in the Desert.
"That sounds fascinating,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “What do I wear to a monastery, anyway? Do I need to go buy a wimple?"
I took in Vesper's curves in her tiny bikini.
"You might prove a little distracting to the monks."
"Only the monks?" Vesper said.
She had me on that one.
“I’m sorry, Vesper, but Father Andara only extended this invitation to me.”
Her face fell, expression turning stormy. “If you think I’m going to let you tear off into the desert alone….”
“This isn’t an active investigation,” I said. “No fighting, just talking. I’ll be fine.”
Vesper glowered for another moment, but her naturally sunny disposition won out. Despite everything she’s been through—and her punky goth aesthetic—Vesper is basically a cheerful girl.
And very, very devious when she wants to be. "Considering that you're facing a week of celibacy in the desert, don't you think you should put the books aside for the rest of the day?"
I mock-sighed and slammed the cover shut on the thick tome. It was the most satisfying sound in the entire world. The mysteries of demonology could wait.
I flashed Vesper a grin as I sidled up to her. I was a lucky man to have found such an attractive and intelligent partner in crime. Our blossoming relationship had done wonders for my overall mood and outlook on life. Not to get too cheesy, but Vesper's love had lifted my spirits. I was genuinely content and happy, probably for the first time in years.
So why was I gripped by a sudden sense of dread and impending doom? I had never had much luck with relationships. My track record in the romantic department was pretty abysmal. Whenever I was lucky enough to stumble upon a good thing, it quickly went to hell. Often literally.
I reminded myself that Vesper was different. Unlike my previous romantic entanglements, she was well aware of the shadow world I traveled in. She was as dedicated to battling the forces of the supernatural as I was. We were partners as well as lovers, a real team. Our union could weather any storm. Or so I told myself.
I scooped up the tube of sunblock and rubbed it into Vesper's reddening shoulders. She purred and shifted her legs seductively, providing my roaming hands better access.
Even as I untied her bikini, though, my gut continued to churn with anxiety. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't help but think of Father Andara's words.
"You've exorcised your demons, Simon Kane."
If that was true, then why did I hear my father's dark, mocking laughter every time I closed my eyes at night?
Chapter Three
Reality intruded just as the sun was vanishing over the darkening ocean outside the large windows of my bedroom. My phone chirped, announcing that Father Andara had sent me the promised information. Vesper, dozing in my arms, murmured a protest as I slipped from beneath the covers.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I said, pressing a kiss on her temple and pulling the covers higher against the evening’s chill.
I headed to my office and got comfortable in front of my computer. Father Andara's email contained two attachments. The first document was a detailed description of the Monastery of the Savior in the Desert and included a link to the abbey's website. The monks had gone digital, it seemed.
I clicked on the link. The surreal image of a church sprouting from a barren desert greeted me on the site's main page, the forlorn structure the only sign of a human presence in the starkly beautiful New Mexico wilderness.
As I scrolled down, I saw images of two more stone structures—a guest house and the monastery. Large solar panels along the roof of the living quarters indicated the monks took advantage of the plentiful sunlight during the year. This place was a far cry from the foreboding medieval European monastery I’d been picturing.
Founded in the sixties, the monastery was located about ninety miles from Santa Fe and surrounded by miles of government-protected wilderness. Men of several nations, not just locals, comprised the community of monks. No nuns, though. They all followed the Rule of St. Benedict, which encouraged peace, prayer, and work in a communal setting under the authority of an abbot.
I wondered what these pious men thought of inviting six broken souls into their spiritual sanctuary. How had Andara convinced the abbot to host this unorthodox gathering? Probably the same way he'd roped me into his project. A man who exorcised demons for a living had to have a way with words.
And even if the monastery was okay with hosting the survivors—would they welcome the son of the most infamous cult leader the world had ever seen?
As I explored the monastery's website, I wondered what sort of person would choose to live in such self-imposed isolation. More than enough, it seemed, as there was a waiting list to join the community. Funnily enough, according to the website, one of the key criteria for potential new members besides being devout believers was a good sense of humor. I guess if you were going to live in the wilderness with a small group of people, you’d better be able to take a joke in between prayer sessions.
The sound of approaching footsteps gave me pause. A glance revealed Vesper had snuck up on me. She studied my computer with interest.
"So that's the place, huh? It looks peaceful."
The perfect place to shut out the world and reset the spirit, I thought. Andara's decision to hold the retreat at the desert monastery made a lot of sense. I still wasn’t sure he’d get the outcome he wanted from this experiment, but he’d chosen the right place for it.
My attention turned to the second file Father Andara had attached to his email. It was ominously labeled “The Possessed” and contained brief bios and photographs of the six survivors who would attend the retreat.
With Vesper by my side, we systematically reviewed the invite list.
First up was an unhealthy-looking, prematurely aged woman in her mid-thirties who sported deep rings under her tired eyes and acne-scarred skin. Next to her was a picture of a sweet teenage girl wearing the fashion of two decades ago.
Vesper swapped a look with me, clearly puzzled.
"I assume this is the same person. Why does her younger self seem so familiar?"
"You're looking at Linda Hawthorn," I said, "the teenager whose battle with demonic forces inspired both a bestselling book and hit movie in the late nineties. Child of Evil was the biggest hit in the genre since William Friedkin's The Exorcist. Linda was also the first person Father Andara saved from the Devil."
“Oh, I loved that movie when I was younger,” Vesper said. “That was your priest buddy?”
I nodded. Father Andara was a legend in the field for a reason. The much-studied Linda Hawthorn case had attained near-mythical status in the eyes of occult historians, and she’d become a macabre celebrity of sorts. One look at her middle-aged self suggested that the years following her exorcism had taken a toll on her, the ordeal exacting a high price on both mind and body.
Father Andara had mentioned that many survivors of exorcisms tended to self-medicate with alcohol and drugs, and engage in other self-destructive behavior. If Linda’s rundown appearance was any sign, her past still cast a shadow over her present.
&nb
sp; “Poor woman,” I said.
"She still lives with the pain," Vesper said with knowing sadness.
I had to agree. The years didn't heal all wounds but to her credit, Linda appeared ready to confront her personal demons head-on. I glanced at Vesper, who’d been through her own hellish ordeal when she was not much older than Linda had been. Reaching out with my left hand, I stroked her wrist, offering what comfort I could.
I scrolled down the document to the next person on the list. The second attendee of the retreat was Robert Maddox, a professional soldier and veteran of multiple military tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. The gaunt, hollow-eyed man in the picture shared a greater resemblance to a strung-out junkie than an elite soldier. According to Father Andara's report, Sgt. Maddox's unit had succumbed to an ambush in an Iraqi cemetery. All the men in Maddox's company had perished that day except for him. He was the only survivor. He got lucky. Or so it seemed at first.
Withing hours of arriving at the military field hospital, Sgt. Maddox started exhibiting strange behavior. He told the nurses and doctors a demon had murdered the members of his unit and was now inside him.
They should have believed him. A vicious attack on one of the military doctors led to years of psychological treatment for the sergeant. Once back in the states, Sgt. Maddox was finally discharged from medical care and ended up on the streets, another lost soul who'd slipped through the cracks of the system until Father Andara caught up with him. The exorcist rid the sergeant of his unwelcome passenger. Tragically, breaking away from the demon had only been the beginning of Robert Maddox's troubles. A struggle with drugs, alcohol, and anger management issues defined the years following his return home.
"Oh my God, is that who I think it is?" Vesper said as she skipped ahead to the next person on Father Andara's invite list.
The smiling brunette parading around in a Catholic schoolgirl uniform would be instantly recognizable to millions of adoring pop fans. A decade earlier, Courtney Star’s videos and songs had rocketed up the charts and filled concert halls. The pop icon's meteoric early success soon took a dark turn, though. Most people said it began when her boyfriend dumped her in front of the paparazzi. They caught the whole sad affair on camera, and images of her heartbreak were plastered across the internet for months. Initial shock and anger turned to pity when more details of Courtney's erratic behavior went public. Highlights had included her covering her body in tattoos and piercings, posting rambling messages on social media, and booking an infamous interview with Oprah that ended with her having to be dragged off the soundstage by security.
The Possessed (The Paranormalist Book 5) Page 2
