Dark Debts (43 page)

“This is not a minor favor you're asking.”

“I know that.”

“Okay, regarding
my
feelings? I feel like I don't want to go back to Syria.”

“No one will know.”

Gabe sighed; actually thought about it for a moment.

“Have you ever had any dealings with the demonic before?” Michael asked.

“Aside from my superiors, you mean?”

“The real thing,” Michael specified.

To his surprise, Gabe nodded.

“I assisted in an exorcism. Once. A long time ago, in Baghdad. A fifteen-year-old girl who swore she was Ishtar.”

“Did it end well?”

“Not for Ishtar,” he said.

“So you know.”

Gabe nodded somberly.

“Is that why you don't want to do it?”

“No. I told you the truth. I don't want to end up in trouble. As meaningless and unrewarding punitive jobs go, I actually like this one.”

“You were ordained before 1972. So you were ordained an exorcist, just as I was.”

“And if, like last time, my superior asked me to be involved in an exorcism, I would not hesitate. But that is not what is happening.”

“We both know you have no respect for your superiors.”

“Respect is irrelevant. I took a vow of obedience.”

This was not going to work, Michael realized. He moved to the sofa and sat next to Gabe to underscore the importance of what he was about to reveal.

“You leave me no choice but to tell you the truth about Vincent, and it's not pretty.”

Gabe nodded for Michael to continue, and he did. He spared no detail of the entire sordid mess. Gabe remained stoic, for the most part, but Michael noticed something shift in his eyes. By the time Michael was done, Gabe understood the full depth of Michael's request.

“I suspect,” Michael concluded, “that Vincent asked me to bring those books here so that we would meet. I also suspect he didn't believe I could do this by myself.”

Michael expected Gabe to concur, but he didn't. He remained quiet, thinking about it.

“I do realize what I'm asking of you,” Michael said. It was true. He now knew well the weight of a broken vow. “But if no one has ordered you not to be involved, you have merely committed the sin of failing to ask permission. It's not the same thing.”

“You're going to lecture
me
on obedience?” Gabe asked.

“You would hear a dying man's confession if you didn't have faculties to hear confessions in that diocese, wouldn't you? Because his soul would be at stake. How is this different?”

Gabe took it all in. Thought about it for a long moment.

“All right,” he said quietly.

Without further comment, Gabe left the library and headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Michael asked.

“To get ready,” Gabe said, without looking back.

G
abe was waiting in the hallway, dressed in his cassock and a surplice, with a purple stole around his neck, when Michael came down the stairs. When Gabe handed him a stole, he kissed it and put it around his neck.

Gabe had prepared the room and Michael could see Jack already lying on the bed, arms and legs strapped to the mattress frame.

“I'm sorry about the straps,” Michael said.

Jack shook his head. “Don't be. Make sure they're tight.”

Michael looked at Randa. “Are you okay?”

Randa nodded. “Father Novak said I could stay.”

“You don't have to.”

“I want to,” Randa said. “I'll stay out of your way, but I don't want to leave Jack.”

Michael nodded. Out in the hallway, he could see Gabe motioning for him to come there. He excused himself.

“I want you to hear my confession,” Gabe said, “and vice versa.”

Oh, hell.

Of course Gabe was going to say that. Michael gave himself a mental kick for not anticipating it. Now what was he going to do?

They went to the library. Confession had never bothered Michael in the least, even if he knew the other priest. But he hadn't been since he'd met Tess. And the last person on earth he wanted to tell was the guy who was about to hear his confession.

Just do it. Leave Tess out.

That was it. He had no other choice. He'd deal with that later.

Once he'd made the decision, it was relatively painless. No surprises, except that Gabe actually admitted to pride. A sprinkling of sins against charity, some anger, some envy, the occasional impure thought. All routine stuff. Then Acts of Contrition, Hail Marys, absolutions, good to go.

Outside Jack's door, they ran through the plan like a rock band going through a set list. Holy water. Litany of the Saints. Our Father. Psalm Fifty-Three. Gospel readings. And then . . .

They began. Jack showed no reaction to the holy water. They knelt and began the Litany of Saints, which Gabe had insisted they chant in Latin, so Michael made him take the lead. He didn't mind. The chanting calmed him, and Gabe had a pleasant voice. But if his friends could see him now . . .

“ . . . Kyrie eleison . . . Spiritus Sancte Deus . . . Sancta Maria . . . Ora pro nobis . . .”

The room remained calm through an hour of prayers. Jack kept his eyes closed and did not move. There was no smell, no heavy feeling, no voices in Michael's head. He began to doubt himself. He'd never seen any sign that Jack was possessed. He'd assumed it because of the blackouts Randa had described and the story of Vincent's demon. He was the one who had experienced the voices, the nausea, the presence. Maybe the wrong person was lying on the bed?

There was a rustle as Jack shifted his body weight to face the priests. His eyes were open now and, as Michael watched, his mouth twisted into a strange smile.

“You'll get your turn, Padre.”

The putrid odor started to fill the room. Michael and Gabe exchanged a glance: an unspoken “Here we go.” Michael continued the prayer.

“God of Heaven and Earth, God of the angels and archangels, God of the prophets and apostles, God of the martyrs and virgins—”

This prompted a howl of laughter that clearly did not belong to Jack. It was tangible. Michael could feel it on his skin. Randa was staring at Jack, wide-eyed.

“Virgins!” The demon laughed with delight. His eyes were fixed on Michael. “What do
you
know about virgins?” He laughed again, and then slowly turned his head toward Gabe.

“And what have we here? If it isn't the high priest Caiaphas.”

Gabe didn't look up from his book. Michael picked up the prayer again and mumbled it to its conclusion.

“You're wasting your energy, Padre,” the demon said, suddenly. “You can't put out the fire from inside the burning building.”

“By the authority of Jesus, I command you,” Michael said. “To what name will you answer?”

“You know my name,” Jack said. He chuckled. “You need to learn your own name.”

The air was heavy. It felt like a living thing. The odor had intensified; it smelled like an open garbage can on a hot summer day. Michael stopped and took a couple of slow breaths, trying to brace himself for the presence. Randa recoiled and steadied herself against a dresser. Gabe remained unfazed.

“
Mi casa es tu casa, Padre
,” the demon said. “
Salsipuedes
.”

“
Digame tu nombre
,” Michael demanded.

“No,”
Jack said, grinning.

“
Tu nombre
,” Michael repeated.

“
No te acuerdas de mi
?” Jack asked, the grin widening.

“You will obey me,” Michael said, “by the—” He stopped. The pressure in the air had grown much worse in an instant, bearing down on him. A pain shot through his head. It took his breath and he couldn't speak. He shot a look at Gabe, who took the baton.

“Quod nomen est tibi?”
Gabe asked the demon.

“Ana-Sin-Emid,” the demon answered, laughing.

“Quod nomen est tibi?”

“Naramsin,” the demon said, and then cackled again.

Michael had recovered enough to speak. “What was that?” he asked.

“Ancient Babylonian names. Ana-Sin-Emid means ‘I trust in sin' and Naramsin means ‘he who exalts sin.' He's playing with me.”

Gabe returned his attention to the demon.
“Quod nomen est tibi?”

The demon issued a deep-throated growl in Gabe's direction, followed by:

“Father Brilliance. Proud of that IQ, aren't you? So what? Every single thing He gave you is meaningless.” He laughed heartily and then continued: “When you die, you will have had no effect on the world. The Jesuits did my work for me.”

Without taking his eyes off Jack, Michael groped on the nightstand and found a crucifix. He grasped it tightly and held it up to face the demon.

“Quod nomen est tibi?”
he demanded.

“Yes, I know. You can speak Latin, too.”

A sound filled the room. A gruesome symphony—thousands of voices at once, all screaming in utter agony. Souls in complete despair. The demon was opening a window of their prison, allowing the sound and the feeling to reach out and grab all of them.

Michael lifted the crucifix and held it over Jack. He was trying to speak, but could not. Jack's smile turned into an equally hideous frown. He stared at the crucifix with a look of pure hatred. A low and inhuman groan came from somewhere deep in his throat. At the same time, something in the air broke loose, and the pain and the sounds started to fade. Soon they were gone entirely. The only sound in the room was that of Randa and the priests trying to catch their breath.

Suddenly the demon spoke again. “Put . . . it . . . down . . . you . . . bastard . . .”

The voice was different now. Grating. Each word seemed to take an enormous effort.

“He . . . doesn't . . . control . . . me . . .”

“He cast you and all like you into the pit,” Michael said. “And by His power I command you to return.”

“I . . . am . . . not . . . stained . . .” The demon's voice was getting stronger. “. . . by . . . his stinking blood.”

“You are not
saved
by His blood,” Michael said. The thing growled again.

“You don't know him!” the demon spat, his words now coming fast and sharp.
“You know lies! He was no one!”

“Then why hate Him?”

“Because, you useless pig! He gets power from you brain-dead slime and your fairy tales! He had no power until you gave it to him! He was no one! You don't see the most obvious thing.”

Michael didn't respond for a moment and Gabe jumped in.

“Lord, hear my prayer.”

“And let my cry be heard by you.”

“You weak shit!” the demon spat at Michael. “Your bread is bread and your wine is wine and nobody is going to save your ass! You're going to stand in front of the same wrath I did, and you're going to get the same amount of mercy!”

“Our Father,” Gabe began, and Michael and Randa quickly joined in. When they finished, Gabe picked up the prayers again.

“God . . . it is an attribute of Yours to have mercy and to forgive . . . Hear our prayer, so that this servant of Yours—”

“You're not a skillful confessor, Father Holy Pants. Padre Pio would have known.”

Gabe kept praying as Michael could feel his stomach constrict. He hadn't remembered that the demon would blurt out his unconfessed sins.

“He forgot to mention the leggy redhead in New York. He goes up there every other week for . . . spiritual direction.”

Gabe stopped praying and looked at Michael.

Demons lie. Don't believe it.

Gabe knew. He might not be Padre Pio, but he'd looked up too quickly for Michael to lose his shocked expression. He handed his
Roman Ritual
to Randa.

“Hold my place,” he said.

Jack's eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. Gabe headed into the hallway and Michael followed him, feeling like he was being called to the principal's office.

“You have a
girlfriend 
?” Gabe barked.

“You're going to believe a demon?”

“Absolutely not,” Gabe said. “I want to hear it from you.”

Michael was trapped. To buy some time, he made his way to the library. Gabe followed on his heels.

“Yes,” Michael said, figuring simplicity was his best defense.

“And you think you can confess, not mention the girlfriend, have me think I've absolved you, and then go exorcise a demon?”

“I don't want to make any major life decisions until this is over.”

“You
already
made a major life decision that precludes this one. Are you deranged?”

“No. I'm counting on God to be more merciful than you.”

“That's not mercy you're asking for; it's cheap grace. See Bonheoffer. There's a copy of
The Cost of Discipleship
in the library.”

“Do you possess an ounce of compassion?”

“Michael, mercy is meaningless without justice. What you are doing is
lying
and inviting God
to share in your lie
. You're asking God to un-God Himself—to give up righteousness so as to approve of your moral cowardice!”

Michael knew, in some recess of his soul, that Gabe was right. But there was nothing he could do about it now, and they certainly couldn't stop in the middle of an exorcism.

“We have to get back—”

“No,” Gabe said. “I'm not playing your game. Pick up the phone
now
and break up with her
now
, and mean it
now
, and
then
I'll absolve you and
then
we'll go back in there.”