Exorcise is Good for the Sold
The girl was crying on the stained lime green linoleum of the kitchen. Ugly light streamed in through the cheap, dirty blinds painting the apartment with reds and oranges that clashed with the floor. She was a pale waif in an immaculate white night gown, with her long black hair spread out like a spider’s web from her sobbing head. She was curled up in a ball clutching her stomach. She scratched the linoleum, leaving deep ruts in the second-rate flooring with her fingernails. Hot tears streamed from the corner of her closed eyes down her cheeks, and off her chin. They accumulated in a super heated saline puddle beneath her.
The sulfur-tainted, sweaty air assaulted my nose. A steady rumble from the apartment above, a washer-dryer with a faulty motor matched the steady drumbeat of my heart. Her attempts at screaming were just garbled gasps of air. I could have gone to her, tried to calm her down, tell her it would be all right and that she’ll get through this. But I didn’t. I had a job to do, and it didn’t involve trying comfort a crying kid.
The girl’s name was Cassandra Fernando, age 15, she was mostly a good kid, she did all the things “good kids” are supposed to do, she listened to her parents, she was good in school, she was athletic and intelligent. That was until about a week ago. She came home from late on a Friday; dizzy and confused with her pupils dilated. Her parents thought she had done some youthful drug experimentation and decided to punish her for it. Not too harshly though because hey, she’s a good kid. They sent her to her room and told her she was grounded. Cassie did not protest.
The next morning Cassandra’s mother, Mia, was preparing breakfast: bacon, eggs, and waffles, when the telephone rang. It was her mother. She wanted to inquire what she thought was doing. She wanted to know why she let her child run wild, and how Mia had turned out so rotten. Where was her pride, where was her honor? She was ashamed of her. Mia was a little surprised. But not by what her mother said. She’d been hearing her mother talk to her this way for most of her life, and it had become par for the course.
However Mia’s mother had died eight years earlier.
Mia slammed the phone down on the receiver and cowered in the corner, her heart pounding. She didn’t finish breakfast.
She immediately cried out to her husband, Paul, who tried to dismiss what his wife was telling him, but she was insistent. To appease his hysterical spouse he picked up the phone and listened. All he heard was a dial tone. So he told his wife… No actually he asked his wife to politely go into the living room and allow him to make breakfast himself. He told her he loved her. Upon re-igniting the grill a ball of flame shot up around the pan with and engulfed his hand and head, obliterating his eye brows, burning his hair, and singeing his skin superficially. He jerked backward and fell down and watched the fire linger on his wall leaving him a message: Flee, coward, flee lest you suffer with them. Not one to confront trouble he very quickly went to his wife kissed her on the lips and exited the apartment. He did not return.
Mia was made of sterner stuff. Still shaking from her conversation with her deceased mother, she entered the kitchen and read the message. This frightened her more, because while she’d never said it, had often thought of her husband as a rank coward. And what did “or suffer with them” mean? Was Mia going to suffer? Was Cassie? Suddenly concerned she rushed to her daughter’s room and opened the door. Cassie was sitting up in bed, a vacant stare and a strange smile on her face. Her eyes were pupil-less and the normal honey brown of her eyes was replaced with a blue, pale as ice. The eyes seemed to laugh at her from her daughter.
“It will begin soon. Soon.” The cold wind that came with those words didn’t chill her nearly as much as the voice. It was not her daughter’s voice. It was something… else. Something deeper, older. Colder
Cassie collapsed then and returned to the deep slumber she’d been in since the night before. Mia Fernandez was remarkably calm in what she did next. With utmost calm she left her apartment and descended to the street. Her hand as she hailed the cab, was as still as a summer lake at dawn. Her pace up the stairs to her place of worship was controlled and even. Even her breakdown in front of Horatio Malte, her Priest, was oddly muted. Malte didn’t quite believe her but he said he’d look into it.
Malte went to her apartment to investigate. The first day he tried to use the modern approach: flatly denying the spiritual, and focusing on the psychological. A pointless endeavor because being crazy, while often a valid explanation for a Possession, does not generally explain phone calls from the dead, or exploding stoves with a penchant for dramatic prose. So maybe the broad isn’t crazy he thought and moved on to older more questionable methods. For two days he tried rituals and incantations that netted him flying books, projectile vomit, and a nightmare to last him a good long while. He knew he was really out of his depth. So he tried the next logical step.
He called me.
It was a Monday. The sun stared bleakly at me from its perch above the city. Despite the casual of cloud cover the air was chilly from a winter's touch not yet a month past. It was windy that day, the kind of stiff breeze that made me want to pull my coat closer to my body, as if that small, thin layer of fabric would turn back the gale. I was wrong, it wouldn’t keep the wind out; it wouldn’t keep anything out. I was frozen to my bones by the time I reached the apartment building.
It was one of those older jobs, on the outskirts of the projects, a large house someone converted to apartments some years back to squeeze money from immigrants. There were probably five or six units, each with anywhere from two to ten people living in each one.
The door was a shaggy Dalmatian of caked on dirt on stained, chipping paint. The door opened as I stepped up to it, saving me the trouble of knocking. Malte stood in the portal that was just a little smaller than it should be and offered his hand. I didn’t take it. He left his hand there a moment as if the longer it lingered in the air between us the more enticing it would be to return the gesture. I shook my bag; the tools of the trade rattled and caught his attention. He grunted, feeling awkward as he dropped his hand to his side. He was breathing heavy, but no because he was mad. He’d seen me approach from the apartment window. He told Mia to wait with her child as he rushed down to meet me. It was only one flight of stairs but Malte was a short, fat man in horrible shape. It was probably the most exercise he’d gotten in several months.
“My payment,” I held out my left hand, the leather of my glove creaked slightly as I opened my fist. I didn’t realize I’d clenched it so tightly upon seeing the little bastard. The fat priest reached into the pocket his expensive tailor-made sport coat and handed me a white envelope. I held it casually to my forehead and closed my eyes, “I’m seeing only half my money. Why’s that?”
Malte coughed and his eyes widened as he scrambled for an excuse, “Consider it a down payment: half now, half when… if you finish.”
I dropped my head a little and shook it side to side slowly as I looked him in the eye. His beady brown eyes betrayed nothing, I could have gone further, but I’d been down that road, it’s not pretty. “You should know by now, that’s not how I operate.”
“Well, then go, if you don’t want the job. I’ll just take that back and give it to someone that wants the money.” He reached for the money and I jerked it away from his hands. When I first started out I would have thrown the envelope in his face, said good luck to you sir and walk away. But work had been scarce lately. I wasn’t the only game in town anymore, I was the best but people aren’t that concerned with quality when price is involved. And there was a little girl involved.
I put the money in my pocket. The priest’s face was the picture of triumph. I hate it when I lose. I followed him up the stairs, secretly hoping his gasping for air would lead to some kind of cardiac arrest, but he just kept plodding, breathing, and living. By the time we reached the apartment door I knew there was a presence here beyond what should be in a shabby project. I was a little surprised by how strong it was.
“You feel it don’t you,” Malte whispered. I nodded. “It’s powerful, even I feel it. The people here feel it; they’ve been leaving a little at a time since Friday. I’d be surprised if there were more than a handful of people here anymore.” He didn’t seem to be talking to me anymore. His insufferable confidence and slimy personality seemed muted next to the presence. I nodded.
He knocked on the door. Once, hard enough to shake it in it’s frame, and put his hands behind his back and waited. I don’t know why but it always seemed to work. A stunner answered the door. She had dark brown hair that would have reached past her shoulders if she didn’t have it in a playful pony tail. She had wide lips, red and soft, they were moist and very kissable. She wore clothes that were just a bit more provocative than what would be considered professional. Her shirt, a button down white shirt that was a little too tight, with just one more button left open than dignity would dictate. She wore a long full length skirt, but it was skintight, and bore an alluring slit up one side showing plenty of well toned leg. She wore high heels bringing her to just below eye level with me. The effect was a sense of subdued sex that you’d only notice if you looked real, real close. And I was looking real, real close.
She smiled, her teeth were white and even, it was the kind of smile you’d want to see every morning, and it fit her face well. “I’m so glad you’re here Mr.…” she trailed off thinking, and finally gave up, “I’m sorry I can’t remember your name.” she had a slight Spanish accent.
I smiled back, as warmly as I could muster, “That’s ok.” I tried to leave it at that.
“But I could have sworn Father Malte said your name, I just can’t remember it.” That’s not the first time that’s happened.
“It’s better if you don’t know my name. Because if you know it, then your daughter would know it, and then the entity would know it, and that would be bad. It would be bad for everyone involved.” It would only be bad for me. These things tend to get vengeful when you evict them, and it gets really easy to find you if they have your name. And then they … well, let’s just say they do unpleasant things to you.
I told her to pack up for a few days and that I’d call Malte when it was finished. He ushered her out so that I could get to work, his hand hovering just a little lower than the small of her back. She didn’t seem to mind. I closed the door behind them, put my bag down in the kitchen and sat at the table. I let out a long breath, and loosened the leash on my senses a little; the colors in the room seemed to get a little brighter the smells a touch more vibrant. This was just a visual cue of my gift manifesting itself. I rummaged around my tools and pulled out a deck of cards, a vial of liquid, a magnetic rock on a string, a colored glass lens, some chalk, candle, and some matches.
I drew a circle on the flat wooden table and picked up the magnetic rock. Holding the string I moved it over the circle and closed my eyes. I held my hand as still as possible and concentrated. Nothing happened.
I spat a curse and tried again, using both hands.
This time the rock began to swing in small jerky circles, getting wider and faster until it was parallel with the table and then it stopped mid circle directly in front of me. It swung straight up above my hands and then the rock began to spin. Really fast. “Oh shit.” I was barely able to duck under the table when the thing blew up; pieces of smoldering rock peppered every surface in the kitchen. A tiny chunk landed on the back of my hand. I could feel the heat through the glove and shook my hand to get it off.
That wasn’t good. If I needed to use both hands to gauge it’s strength that meant it could defend itself with considerable skill. I don’t think I need to explain what the gauge stone blowing up means. I was in for a load of trouble, so it was best to be cautious. I needed to find out exactly what and who I was dealing with. In the last few days there had been plenty of damage but a lot of it was superficial, I needed to find something that had a personal touch. It didn’t take me long to find the scorch mark message over the stove.
I used the lens this time. It’s a special lens that allows you to see any residual energy, what type it is, where it’s emanating from, and sometimes whose it is. What I found was unexpected.
The residual was mostly, dark blue, the color of the ocean in a storm. I’d expected that just based on the feel of the place, but there were tinges of green and orange around parts of the message. Those inconsistencies had to be human, which meant that the girl had collaborated with the entity, at least once, and that was bad. If she let it in, or willingly gave of herself extracting the entity would be dangerous. I opened the deck of cards and spread them out on the table. Closing my eyes I concentrated on the deep blue residue and placed my hand over the cards. “Show me” I muttered, and felt a burst of heat through my gloves as the cards went up in flames. I wiped away the ashes looking for what ever was left.
Three cards: the 9 of Hearts, representing the girl, the entity was the Ace of Clubs. I was the Jack of Spades
So she was a Heart and it was a Club, that’s not supposed to happen. He should have been a Spade or a Diamond. Hearts and Clubs are water and sodium. They should have reached critical mass going up in spectacular fashion, metaphysically speaking, almost at once. But that didn’t happen, meaning this was some extremely bad juju. There was something happening here that I didn’t want any part of.
I felt the weight of the money in my pocket. “In for a penny,” I muttered and headed towards the room. I was in for way more than a penny, but really not looking forward to a pounding.
I readied myself for the fight, when her bedroom door exploded outward; I was standing in front of it. The concussion hurled me into the opposite wall, leaving a dent in it. My right shoulder cracked against a stud, it was all broken glass and fire on that side of my back and my arm hung uselessly at my side.
Cassandra Fernando stood in the ruins of the hall and stared at me with two black holes where her eyes should be. I felt like the cow outside the slaughter house. She slapped me in the face and I went for another tumble. It didn’t feel so much like a slap as it did getting whacked in the head by a small feminine shovel wielded by the world’s strongest man. I went skidding across carpet face down. I ended up in front of the kitchen an arms length from my other tools. I reached for them and my arm screamed at me, reminding me of my shoulder. I tried to ignore the pain, and failed but I was able to get a hand on my bag, at almost the same moment I felt tiny cold fingers wrap around my ankle. The girl’s dragged me in to the center of the living room and flipped me over; she straddled my chest and focused those black eyes on me. I felt the pressure of the being put on my mental barriers, and it was more than I could take. I had only a few seconds before it breached my defenses, and then…
The bag was in my right hand, but I couldn’t make my fingers get to what I needed, so I had only one choice. I brought my left hand to my mouth, ripped off my glove, and I grabbed a hold of her.
I hate this part. Her mind and my mind crashed together, our surface thoughts laid bare for each other, our memories mixed, for a moment we were one person. I call it a Blending because when it’s over your head feels like it went through a blender. Twice. It was a millennium in a moment and stars burst behind my eyes. She fell back as if she’d been punched. I guess in a way she had. The crush of memory and emotion overloaded her brain because she hadn’t been through it before. She fell unconscious despite the entity. I had a little time to catch my breath.
And my fucking head was pounding.
Everything I got from the Blending was jumbled, out of order and sort of confusing, but I did learn a few things. For one thing sweet, little Cassandra was born for a reason. Unlike ninety nine percent of the world, she had Power and a Purpose. It’s kind of depressing to know you were born with a Purpose. Just think about it: from the moment you opened your eyes and began crying till you lie down and die all of your life had been planned for you. That girl that winked at you in the bar, does she think you’re cute or does fate demand it? Did you turn left at the intersection because it was your choice, or did the divine plan require you to be in that moment at that time? Were you late to work because you stayed up to late and overslept, or were you supposed to get chewed out and fired? Not that I know anything about the subject, but it seems really frustrating. .
Another thing I learned is her little “infestation” was not new. Well being Possessed was new to her, but not the entity, she’d known it her whole life, she called it Rags. Rags had made himself out to be an imaginary friend, and spent most of her childhood telling her to do things her parents didn’t approve of. But let’s not get into that. The really interesting part is why Rags had become a part of her life. Oh now that’s a hell of a thing.
Since sweet little Cassie was born with Power and Purpose, she was not easy to hide from her “enemies.” A newborn with enemies- twisted. She was found very young and it was decided she must not grow into that enemy Rags and his cronies feared. So Rags came to her to corrupt her intended purpose. Teaching her all sorts of things her parents didn’t want to know. And finally after a long, long time of hearing things from both directions, her parents saying do this and her Rags telling her to do that, the girl finally had to choose. Her moment of truth had come, the time she had been born for and her Purpose was almost at hand. Soon she would strike down, the enemies she’d been created to fight, shifting the balance of power to the other side. But she had chosen to rebel against her birth, her circumstance, and her existence. She invited Rags in.
Shit.
I drew a circle on the floor of the kitchen and placed candles in all the right spots, it’s a math/spiritual thing. It’s all very complicated, and if you want me to explain it, this is going to take a whole lot longer. Oh, you do? Well, I got this pamphlet right here, if you are interested. But it’s got to do with the ratio of… Oh you were kidding. Sorry I… never mind.
Moving on…
I sat cross legged between two candles in front of the circle, I focused on her/him, and began chanting. It was an old language that no one uses anymore. One of those before time was time deals. After an hour or so she finally woke up. I told you Blendings really suck. She and Rags glared daggers at me from the circle. If they could get past that barrier, I’d be in for some trouble. The candles in the room flickered with faded disinterest.
“Well, hello there Rags. Snatch any babies lately?”
White eyes tried to turn me to ash, but I just leaned back a little, the girl’s body let out an exasperated breath, “What are you waiting for, Exorcist?” the voice was deep and not at all what you’d expect out of a girl that young, but exactly what you’d think an eons old entity that had seen the birth of time would sound like.
“Well, I’d really like to do this the easy way, so I’m hoping you’d just get out of her and save me the trouble of extracting your ethereal ass, and sending you back. So what do you say, big guy?”
The laugh was small and girlish, Cassie’s laugh. But Rags was still talking. “I don’t think you understand what is going on.”
Oh I knew what was going on all right. “I want to talk to the girl, Rags, so shut up. Cassie, can you hear me?”
“Of course I can,” her voice was a welcome change from Rags, “But I don’t want you to do this. Please, just go away,” she pleaded with me.
“I can’t do that.”
Her eyes darkened a little with Rags influence, “What kind of a name is Xavier?” a strange mixture of both their voices. They were threatening me, letting me know they knew who I was.
“You really shouldn’t have let him in, Cassie,” I said.
“Well that’s my choice, not yours, not theirs, so how about you just leave us alone.” The girl was a real firecracker.
“No can do. Your parents want you back. Well, your mom does at least.”
The girl began to get a little frantic, “Please, you’ve been in my mind you know what I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t want that. This is the only way. Once this weekend’s over I’ll be safe, I’ll be free.” Poor girl. She even probably believed that. The truth is, she’d never be safe or free, not with Rags in tow. In fact anyone with Power and Purpose was neither free nor safe, with or without a piggy-backer.
“Sorry darlin’,” it wasn’t my place to explain the way things were. That’s what I hear parents are for, but considering what I now knew about her family that wasn’t going to happen. “You better get ready, Rags is in there pretty good, and it’s going to hurt.”
“Please,” her voice was so small. I was almost convinced into just leaving. Instead I dug into my coat pocket and pulled out a Bloodring and held it eye level with her. She focused on it and seemed to go into a daze, but I knew better. A daze implies some semblance of peace, Rags was anything but peaceful. He was… panicking? No, that’s not right. It wasn’t panic; he was trying to get away from the Bloodring, or get himself ready, or maybe it just pissed him off.
I still couldn’t believe she invited him in, a girl with that kind of Power should have known better. An invited guest is a deer tick. You can’t just rip it out, that causes more damage than just leaving it alone. But lucky for me- the solution is the same. You gotta make the entity want to let go and the only way too do that is to burn it off. I felt sorry for the girl. But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Well that’s what the Duke’s been telling me.
The most important part to remember when performing an exorcism is something my old teacher must have told me a million times: Purity burns, little Xavier. It’s kinda like telling someone “keep your eye on the ball.” You don’t really know how much that helps, until you actually keep your eye on the ball, swing and get a hit. The Bloodring, was a pure symbol of the entity’s enemy. It would work like a charm. Literally.
Suddenly the girl’s head snapped up and looked me in the eye with the blazing black voids that weren’t her eyes. “Your clan has been reduced to this?” It said in disbelief, the eyes somehow darkened even blacker. “Pathetic.”
The easiest way to piss me off is to bring my family up. I rushed into the circle pushing the girl to the floor, I clamped my bare hand on her forehead and at the same time I slapped the Bloodring on her chest. It began to sizzle and sear against her skin. I felt the heat through my glove. I brought my will to bear against the thing…
And we were on a white plane of snow with our swords locked. His eyes were pure blue orbs on a canvas of blinding white light; he had no other discernable features except his hands and his sword. An icy wind whistled across us, I shivered a little but held my ground, he pushed forward and I pivoted to the side, swinging the sword around to…
I was holding the hose on a building fire; it roared and seemed to swipe at me with flaming limbs. I held steady. But it was strange; the fire wasn’t orangish-red, but blue-white. And it was cold. The hose I was using was spouting fire.
An open hill, green grass, and grey sky. Rain pelted us and he was above me, putting pressure on my neck; I couldn’t breathe. I flailed trying to get him off me, but his arms were steel, and I couldn’t dislodge him. I almost lost consciousness but I fought forward and head butted him. His hands slacked at the force of my forehead against his nose, I pushed back to get the upper hand and…
I was face down on a gym mat, my arm was being pulled behind me, I felt a pressure on my elbow. My arm felt like it was about to break, I kicked out blindly and caught him between the legs ...
We were in a high school hallway, I had him lifted off the ground pinned against a locker, a girl beat on my back, “let him go, let him go.” I ignored her and tried to squeeze Rag’s throat shut, I felt it as his knee drove into my stomach. I fell to the floor.
We were still in the apartment, inside the circle. I was howling out in a language that I wasn’t sure I understood anymore. The words mangled my throat, but I pushed on. The candles around me spurted up four feet high with sulfuric-hell fire, the heat blasted my back. I pushed on. The scorching burn from the Bloodring was starting to shake. The heat from the emblem got through my glove. Cassie’s cries, along with an unworldly shriek, assaulted my ears. It was starting to happen. Rags was coming out. Just a little bit longer.
A little longer.
Just a little bit…
Rags came out with a bang.
There was a silent explosion and I was thrown out of the circle and across the room. My back was taking a beating today. I just barely retained consciousness as my back and head crashed against the wall of the kitchen. I limped to the circle and looked at the girl, with my senses fully up. It was just her, nothing different in her aura. But pulling Rags out had been too much strain for her, and she’d passed out.
I had won. I let a smile cross my lips. I was about to let out a sigh of relief when I heard it. A flutter of wings and the cracking of knuckles, I used my senses to scan the room without turning. Roughly ten feet behind me, the physical manifestation of Rags stood there glaring at me. I knew it couldn’t be this easy.
I turned around and it stood there before me in all of his glory. He was taller than I was by a foot, impressive because I’m not short. His hair was shoulder length and black. His skin was pale and flawless, his face contained perfect symmetry. His eyes were the featureless blue/black/white that had glared at me out Cassie’s eyes. He had wings of pure white folded behind his shoulders. He wore sandals that were strapped all the halfway to the knee over calf muscles the size of my thigh. He had on a silver chest plate over a white tunic. There was an emblem on the armor in an ancient language. The emblem was Raguel- a name that translated as “Friend of God”- He was the archangel of Justice, Fairness, and Harmony. He was not happy with me.
He crossed the room before I could even think about acting, and lifted me up by my neck, effortlessly. The archangel didn’t even pretend to be tired, even after all I’d just done. Asshole. He tapped me on the stomach, but it was with his holy strength, so it was hard enough to drive the air from my lungs, and then he began to squeeze my wind pipe closed. I tried to do a Blending on him, but I forgot in my desperation that you can’t start Blendings with angels. When my hand collapsed to my side he let me drop to the ground. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Exorcist?” he asked
Let me tell you a little bit about infinitely powerful beings. They’re so used to being invulnerable that they forget when they take corporeal form they can be hurt, by the right thing. “I don’t know and I don’t care,” I said as I threw the vial at his face. It shattered against his flawless forehead its contents splashed his face. It began to sizzle at once. He stumbled backwards and fell. Steam and heat bubbled from his face. I got up quickly and stood over the Archangel brandishing the still burning Bloodring. “I Banish you by the Will of Below.” That usually works quickly, but Raguel resisted. I could feel the pull on him, but he was resisting it. I’d never seen that before. He wiped the unholy Bile off his eyes to glare at me for a moment. “What happens now is on you, Xavier Tericos,” he spat at me and disappeared.
Fucking Satanists, you always bite off more than you can chew when you work for them.
I heard the girl crying from the circle, “You bastard, why. WHY! He was trying to save me. Do you have any idea what I’m capable of? Don’t you know why I was born?!?!?!?” I turned to the girl in the circle, she’d been through hell and the burn from the Bloodring would probably be a scar for the rest of her life. “Why did you do this to me?” she said, pathetically, as she descended into tears.
“They paid me,” I said.
With my job done I gathered up my things and headed for the door. Like I said, I wasn’t there to coddle kids. I really hope there isn’t any backlash from this
