Demonized (9 page)

“
There is nothing you can do except kill yourself,”
the Voice told me gleefully as searing heat scored my eyeballs and burned my face, evaporating the droplets of holy water. “
That’s your only escape.”

“
You won’t take him!” Crane cried. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, you will not take this innocent soul!”

He lunged at me, Bible in hand, and for a second I thought he’d hit me with it. Then his fist connected with my jaw and I slumped onto my back, more out of surprise than anything else.
Are priests allowed to hit people
?

Crane knelt on my chest, pinning me to the floor, and raised his voice over the din of demonic voices singing our doom. His voice sounded clear and strong, pushing back the shadows and fire filling the church. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want...”

I twisted and flailed beneath him as the Voice tried to throw him off. “
Fuck you! Fuck your fucking Bible!”

“
He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake...”

“
You can’t cast me out like some unwanted house guest! I am far beyond your pathetic prayers and chants!”

The darkness swelled around me, and I saw demons clinging to the cross over the altar, leering and laughing down at me, promising me more pain, more torture, telling me the only way out was death.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”

For a second I imagined it, reaching for my gun, shoving it in my mouth, and blowing my brains out. I imagined the relief, the freedom from the nightmares and the constant torment of the Voice.

It would be paradise.

My fingers edged toward my pocket, weighed down with my gun.

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.”

Then I pictured Mutt staring up at me with his big doggy eyes and pictured Anna gazing at me over a coffee cup. Hell, I even pictured Stoker, with her constant frowns and heartfelt sighs, and I knew I didn’t want to die.

“
You don’t have a choice,”
the Voice snapped at me. “
These people, that dog, they’re nothing. Not worth staying alive for.”

I pictured poor Rhian Ellis and imagined her ghost wandering the city, unable to rest while her killer still roamed and killed more. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to find whoever murdered her and see them suffer for it.

“Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever!” Crane shouted, sounding frantic and determined.

The Voice shrieked and the altar cloth burst into flames. Crane fell off me with a roar, rolling away from the blazing cloth. I scrambled to my knees, fighting the urge to grab my gun and start shooting. At myself or Crane, I wasn’t sure. I fought and curled my hands into fists and slammed them into the wooden floor, letting the pain shoot through me and push back the murderous impulses the Voice filled me with.

“It would be so easy! So delicious. The crack of the gun, the smell of fresh blood...”

“
No!” I shouted, pounding my fists into the wood until my knuckles bled. With each blow, my head cleared and the demonic voices surrounding us faded a little. “No fucking way! This is my body! My life, my fucking messed-up life, and you don’t get to decide what I do!”

“
You can’t stop me!”

“
Yes I can!” I staggered to my feet and whirled round to face Crane. “Keep praying!” I yelled at him. “Keep fucking praying!”

Crane groped for the Bible, opened it at random and began reading at the top of his lungs. Behind me, Mutt howled, and that helped, weirdly. The dog had my back, and dogs sensed evil.
Mutt hasn’t turned on me, so there is still hope, right
? I still had hope.

I cast around, trying not to look at the shadows dancing at the edge of the aisle, closing in on me. There had to be something to shut the Voice up, something to help me.

“
There is nothing for you but misery and death.”

“Shut the fuck up!” I shouted my throat raw and rasping. I raced around the church, dodging the shadowy hands that grabbed at me. Their touch was icy cold, a wicked contrast to the heat of the flames consuming the chairs and altar. There had to be something.
This is a church, for God’s sake. It is built to keep evil out, right
?

There.
There.
The baptismal pool. To the left of the altar, the water reflected the flames like a mirror. I had no idea if it would help, but it sure as hell wouldn’t hurt at this point. So I flung myself into it.

The pool wasn’t as deep as it looked and I cracked my knees on the tiles with a pretty unmanly yelp. Water sloshed over me, cool and cleansing. I plunged under, closing my eyes. The Voice screamed as pain like a high-voltage electric shock shot through me, scorching my nerves and jangling over my skin until I felt sure it peeled off.

“
No, no, no, you can’t win! You can’t beat me this way!”

I didn’t realize until cold water rushed down my throat that the Voice had used my lips to speak. I sucked in lungfuls of water and my throat burned with it. I opened my eyes to find my vision blurred as black stars sparked in and out of my field of vision. As I thrashed and tried to surface, the water pulled me down and held me under. I heard Crane praying for me.

Too late
, I thought as I blacked out into merciful silence.
Too fucking late
.

Chapter Eight

When I came round, I was soaking wet and shivering at the edge of the baptismal pool. Crane and Mutt leaned over me with matching expressions of concern. The church was silent, no fires, no demons. The altar cloth smoked gently, the only sign of our exorcism–
excuse me, deliverance ceremony
–gone wrong.

I sat up, coughing a mouthful of water all over Crane. “So,” I rasped. “Am I gonna die or am I stronger than ever?”

“Are you alright?” he asked me. “Dear lord, I’ve never...”

I rubbed Mutt’s ears as he licked my face, trying to figure out what had really happened and what had just been in my head. I couldn’t. I had no way to tell without asking Crane, and he didn’t look like he wanted to talk about it. I listened for the Voice, and was crushed to hear the demon lurking at the back of my mind, pushed way down and suppressed, but definitely still there, sulking.

Shit. All that for nothing
.

“Mr. Banning?” Crane persisted. “Are you okay?”

I ran my hands through my hair, biting back the urge to laugh deliriously, which probably wouldn’t convince Crane that I was okay. I mean, I wasn’t, but obviously my problem was beyond his skills.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I’d kill for a cup of coffee though.”

Crane winced at my poor word choice, but fetched me a cup anyway. I wrapped my arms around Mutt and hugged him close. “Back to the drawing board, I guess,” I told him. “Maybe we can try crystal therapy or something?”

Mutt stuck his tongue down my ear, which I took as a “no.” He was probably right. If God couldn’t get rid of the Voice, a few chunks of rock had no chance.

* * * *

Father Crane acted pretty nice about the whole thing, really. He refused my offers to pay for the ruined altar cloth, and even took my number in case he came up with any new ideas for solving my little problem. Actually, I think the whole experience kinda made him happy, in a weird way, like he had a cause now.

“I’ll be in touch, Mr. Banning,” he promised me as he waved me off. I saw a bright light in his eyes that made me wonder if the whole episode had pushed him over the edge. “We’ll beat this somehow.”

Feeling heavy and empty at the same time, I made my way to another café and risked heading inside to grab some food. The Voice stayed quiet, and I managed to order myself a burger and fries to go without threatening anyone. Outside, I sat on the curb with Mutt and munched my way blindly through the food. Once I finished, I called Stoker.

Given how moody she’d sounded last time we spoke, I was surprised when she picked up. I guess calling in the middle of the day instead of the middle of the night helped.

“Ethan, how are you?” she asked.

“Really crappy.” I filled her in on the failed exorcism. “I’m open to new ideas.”

She sighed. “I wish I had some for you, I really do. Maybe the exorcism failed because you’re not technically possessed? I did manage to draw out most of the demon’s essence.”

“Not enough of it,” I grumbled. All very well for her to tell me I wasn’t possessed. She wasn’t the one diving head-first into baptismal fonts. “If I’m not possessed, what am I?”

She laughed. “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?”

“I’m not in the mood for piss-poor jokes, Stoker.”

She fell silent for a few seconds and I could hear a TV playing in the background, the noise distorted and strangled over the phone line. “A witch,” she said finally. “Find yourself a good witch.”

“Great. Do they advertise or do I have to go dancing naked under the full moon or what?”

“You’d be surprised what you can find by Googling these days, Ethan.”

I tried really hard to come up with a witticism or innuendo, but failed. “Yeah. Okay. Take it easy, Stoker.”

“You too. Stay in touch.”

I hung up feeling no better than when I’d called.
A witch? Like I have time for that. Like I want to bring more paranormal crap into my life right now
. “C’mon, Mutt,” I said, dragging myself to my feet. “Probably time to head home and shower. One of us stinks.”

Mutt whined his agreement and we stomped home in silence. About halfway back, the heavens opened. Thunder and lightning cracked through the sky and warm rain drenched me to the skin. I guess it saved me the trouble of showering, but it didn’t improve my mood any.

Neither did seeing Anna’s car parked outside my house. “What now?” I muttered, when she jumped out of the car to wave at me.

“When did you get a dog?” she asked, shooting Mutt a wary look. “For that matter, where did you get
that
dog?”

“Home shopping network,” I said. “Can I help, Detective Radcliffe?”

“Are you okay, Banning? You look awful.”

I ignored her and dragged Mutt to the front door, kicking aside the crate of protein drinks waiting by the door as I unlocked it. Anna followed me, picking up the crate and dumping it in the hall behind me.

“Banning? What’s wrong?” I heard real concern in her voice, so I forced myself to drop the silent asshole act and answer her.

“I’ve had a really shitty day so far, Anna. Finding a cop on my doorstep doesn’t give me much hope for the rest of it.” I took off Mutt’s collar and he bounded into the front room to shake his sodden fur over the sofa. I let him, steering Anna into the kitchen so I could fix myself a coffee. Exhaustion caught up with me again and it felt like a caffeine fix was all that stood between me and passing out at Anna’s feet.

“So what’s the occasion?” I glanced at her over my shoulder, trying to figure out if Nympho Anna was lurking in there somewhere. She looked like Professional Anna though, hair pulled back, shirt all ironed.

“We’ve got another one,” she told me, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Dead hooker hauled out of a dumpster early this morning.”

I straightened up, forgetting the coffee. “Shit. Any connection to Hush?”

“Not so far, but we haven’t made a positive ID yet. It’s got to be the same killer though.”

“Missing organs?”

She nodded grimly, blue eyes dark. “The best part? She was found just a block away from Tamsin Searle’s place.”

“Shit.” I rubbed my eyes. “You turned it over yet?”

She nodded. “The place is clean. Apart from the forensic evidence from Rhian’s death, there’s nothing. Even that’s pretty thin–no fingerprints, no DNA.” She tugged at her ponytail as frustration brimmed in her face. “How is that possible, Ethan? Everyone leaves evidence behind!”

Unless there was magic involved. The Voice had been pretty clear that there was. Stoker’s suggestion that I find myself a witch took on a new dimension. I wondered how Anna felt about tarot cards and naked midnight dancing.

Before I could ask her, she slammed her fist down on the sideboard as the frustration boiled over. “Our only lead is Searle, and we have no idea where she is. What if she’s dead, Ethan? What if she’s another victim?”

I shook my head. “That doesn’t feel right to me.”

“I can’t work this case on your gut instincts,” she snapped.

I shrugged. “I’m a down-and-out PI, Anna. All I have is instinct and alcohol.”

She sighed and slumped against the counter. “Don’t pull that shit with me, Banning. Your faux-noir façade might work on other girls, but not me.”

“Actually it doesn’t work on anyone.” I rubbed the back of my neck and offered her a weak smile. “Even my mom thinks I’m just a bum.”

She smiled. It wasn’t much of a smile, but then it wasn’t much of a joke, so I took it. “Look,” I said, “Searle isn’t dead. Don’t ask me how I know, but she’s not. It doesn’t fit, you know? If she was a victim, she would have surfaced by now. Maybe there’s an innocent explanation –she’s on vacation, maybe. She might be out of town and not ever have known Rhian was using her flat.”

“We’ve considered that,” Anna replied. “We’ve considered everything.” She threw her hands up, but the heat of her frustration was gone. “She’s dead, Ethan. I know it.”

I didn’t believe it. No idea why, but I just didn’t. Yeah, it was just a hunch, but...

“
She’s alive,”
the Voice said unexpectedly. “
I felt her presence in the apartment.”

I frowned, filing that away for future consideration. I didn’t like it when the Voice got helpful. I couldn’t help but think it was probably a trick.
Call me paranoid
.