Exorcist Road (3 page)

Father Sutherland said, “Then let us help this young man.” Moving toward me, he reached into one deep side pocket of his robe and came out with a second Bible.

I opened my mouth to tell him I’d brought my own, but he anticipated my protest. “This one,” he said, patting the aged brown cover of the Bible he held, “is a combination of the King James version and several others. You’ll notice that parts of it are handwritten to coincide with the version I now hold.”

I’m afraid I showed my apprehension. I did not like to think of any Bible as having been tampered with.

Again, he favored me with his knowing smile. “I understand your misgivings, Jason, but let us not forget that the Bible itself is an amalgam of an incredibly diverse group of sources spanning many centuries.”

Somewhat reassured, I took the book he proffered.

Sutherland turned to Liz. “Please show us the way, Mrs. Hartman.”

Liz nodded and moved through the doorway.

Feeling like an unprepared understudy who’d just been thrust into a leading role and was now withering in the torrid heat of the stage lights, I followed the others out of the kitchen, up the stairs, down the second-story hallway and toward whatever awaited us in Casey Hartman’s room.

Chapter Three

We entered the bedroom in silence.

When Liz and Ron and the two officers moved aside to allow us passage, I got my first look at Casey Hartman.

My first impression was that he looked like a sleeping child.

Father Sutherland and I stepped closer, and then, with a slight bow, Sutherland extended an arm, making it clear I was to take a position at the boy’s bedside.

“What do you notice?” Father Sutherland asked me.

I studied the boy. He had his mother’s delicate features but his father’s shaggy, black hair. There were no blankets or sheets covering him. I wondered fleetingly if they’d been torn or even bloodied in the tussle. I studied Casey’s body. The bare feet. The long, spidery legs. The red boxer briefs and white T-shirt. The arms were as long and willowy as the legs. I took a step closer and noticed the blood on the boy’s knuckles. I realized I was having trouble breathing, a fetid warmth having pervaded the bedroom.

I looked at Liz. “Is this room normally so hot?”

She shook her head.

“It was like this earlier,” Danny said. “I don’t know if it has something to do with what’s happening or not.”

I didn’t either. In all my studies, the temperature changes that sometimes accompanied demonic possession resulted in frigid temperatures, not tropical ones. I realized I’d begun to sweat.

“Father Crowder?” Sutherland said beside me.

I cleared my throat. “His knuckles are bruised, abraded. That seems to dovetail with the account we’ve been given by Officers Hartman and Bittner, though I expected the injuries to be more severe.”

Bittner mumbled something, but I went on. “Casey appears to be sleeping, though his expression is troubled. His respiration seems labored too.” I frowned. “One of his eyes is puffy. And his bottom lip is busted open.”

I glanced at Bittner, who rolled his eyes in irritation. “You weren’t here, Crowder. It was all I could do to stop the kid from killing us.”

Sutherland took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. “Do you mind if I have a look at the child, Father Crowder?”

I receded from my place at the child’s bedside, secretly relieved to have some distance between us. Because the sight of the unmoving child on the bed so disturbed me, I took a moment to study the young man’s bedroom. Tan walls, ivory trim. Two large windows with light-blocking curtains. A red baseball-bat bag leaned in the corner; three aluminum handles jutted out. There were posters of sports cars flanking the bed. A cloth reproduction of the Beatles’
Abbey Road
album cover over the ivory headboard. I decided the boy had great taste in music.

There was what appeared to be an autographed picture of LeBron James hanging on the wall between Casey’s bedroom windows. Ron noticed me studying it and grunted. “Season tickets to the Bulls, and the kid roots for LeBron. You believe that?”

Father Sutherland moved closer and placed his thumb and forefinger on either side of the boy’s wrist. “His pulse is slow but regular. Whatever caused him to behave the way he did earlier seems dormant now.”

I thought this a terribly obvious statement but kept the opinion to myself.

“Aren’t you going to do any tests?” Ron asked.

Without looking up, Sutherland said, “Of course we are. But I wonder if you and your wife should remain in the room…should things go unexpectedly.”

Ron folded his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.” He nodded at Bittner. “Not with this gorilla in here. You ask me, he was twice as rough as he needed to be with Casey.”

Before Bittner could contradict this, Danny said, “It’s okay, Ronnie. I’ll make sure Casey’s looked after.”

Ron gave his little brother a dead look. “Forgive me for not being reassured. You don’t exactly have the best track record.”

Danny looked stung.

Ron eyed his brother without pity. “You know, I’d have expected more from you, Danny. After we open our house to you. Let you stay these past couple weeks.”

“Stop it, Ron,” Liz said.

“Am I lying?” Ron demanded. “Guy says he needs some time to dry out—”

“You don’t need to bring that up in front of—”

“Why not, Lizzie?” Ron asked, nodding at Danny, who appeared to be studying the floor. “He brings Bittner here, makes the whole situation escalate… I think everybody’s got a right to hear why Danny’s judgment might be a little clouded.”

“I haven’t had a drink in a month,” Danny said.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Liz said. She glowered at her husband. “Can we focus on Casey?”

Ron grunted but didn’t say anything more.

Liz turned to me, her eyes pleading. “Should we stay, Father Crowder?”

With Liz so close to me, my mouth went dry. Mustering as much composure as I could, I said, “Perhaps you should join your daughter, Mrs. Hartman. She needs you now as much as Casey does.”

Liz didn’t look totally convinced, but after a couple seconds she nodded and moved slowly out of the room.

Bittner waited for Liz to go, then closed the door and said, “Good. Now we can drop the bullshit and find out what all this kid knows.”

Sutherland looked disapproving, but it was to Danny he addressed his question. “What’s he talking about?”

Danny colored, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but where he was. “I was hoping he’d tell you on the way over, Father Sutherland. Jack here has this wild theory about Casey being the Sweet Sixteen Killer.”

A thunderstruck silence took hold of the room. The only sound at all was the raspy susurrus of the boy’s breathing.

Ron was the first to speak. “What the hell did you just say?”

Bittner’s lip curled in a snarl. “You heard him.”

Ron wheeled on Bittner. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“You called us here,” Bittner said. “You invited us in. The only reason this little bastard’s not in jail is because he’s Danny’s nephew.”

Ron stared up at Bittner in disbelief. “What did you just call my son?”

Danny moved toward them. “Why don’t we all calm down until Father Sutherland takes a look at—”

“Why the hell didn’t you say something?” Ron barked at his little brother. “How can you let him back into this house knowing what he thinks about my boy? He’s your goddamned
nephew
. Don’t you care about Casey at all?”

“Of course I do,” Danny said in a hoarse voice.

“Then tell this stupid ape to—”

But before Ron could finish, Jack Bittner had him by the throat. Danny looked as shocked as I was, but he grasped Bittner’s arm in an attempt to intercede. Faster than I would have thought possible, Bittner shoved Danny aside and slammed Ron one-armed against the wall. The picture of LeBron shattered on the floor.

“Officer
Bittner!”
Sutherland called, moving toward the pair.

I could see the striations of Bittner’s right forearm as he squeezed Ron’s throat. Both Ron’s hands were grappling with Bittner’s flexing wrist, but he was having no luck at all breaking Bittner’s iron grip or apparently drawing a breath. Ron squirmed, his face a livid red, his eyes huge with fright.

“You wanna see how strong this ape is?” Bittner growled into Ron’s flabbergasted face. “I’ll show you strong. If you’d been a better father, monitored your freak of a son a little bit, there might be six other sets of parents whose daughters were still alive.”

As surprised as I’d been by Bittner’s flare of violence, I was even more taken aback by the way his voice cracked when he spoke of the dead girls. Danny and Sutherland had reached the struggling pair, Danny shouting something to Jack about letting Ron go. My trance breaking, I joined them, and after a momentary struggle, Jack did let Ron go. The wheezing stockbroker tumbled to the floor, the ass of his gray sweatpants landing on the broken glass. Ron emitted a high-pitched yelp and pawed at his rear end. I thought to myself that Ron might have some difficulty explaining the stitches he’d likely have to receive in the morning, but then Bittner began raving, and the thought was swept away.

“I’m arresting this little shit,” Bittner declared. “I should’ve done it earlier.”

“I told you,” Danny said, “Casey’s not going anywhere. Let’s just see what these guys can do before we go throwing fourteen-year-old kids in jail.”

“I heard him, Danny. He was using the girls’ names, talkin’ like they deserved it. He knew stuff no kid his age should know.”

“But he only started acting like this tonight,” Danny persisted. “The murders have been going on for three months.”

“Then you tell me, Danny. You’re so clever, you tell me how he knows so much.”

Sutherland was on his knees helping Ron recover. I stayed where I was, watching with some awe how composedly Danny spoke to his enraged partner. “It’s been everywhere, Jack. On the Internet, the TV…they even discussed it the other day in his current events class.”

Bittner scowled. “And how the hell you know a thing like that?”

Danny shrugged. “Kid’s gotta have someone to talk to beside his mother.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked.

“You know what it means.”

Bittner nodded and favored Danny with an unpleasant grin. “See, that’s the problem. You care about the kid too much to see the obvious. I’ve never met a person yet that believes someone he loves could be capable of killing.”

“Casey is not a killer.”

“Then how does he know so much?”

Ron glared at Bittner incredulously. “He’s fourteen, for Chrissake!”

“Like that means anything,” Bittner said. “I’ve seen younger ones than that kill people for the fun of it.”

A scowl on his face, Sutherland asked Bittner, “The burden of proof is on you. On what do you base your theory?”

“Joy Smith.”

Sutherland’s scowl deepened. “What about her?”

“They go to the same school.” Bittner nodded at the boy on the bed. “Little Casey here had a crush on her. He told Danny about it. Even wrote her love notes.”

We looked at Danny, who sighed miserably. “Casey was saying all sorts of things earlier on, talking about Joy in particular. I could see what Jack was thinking right away, so I told him what I knew—that Casey and Joy were classmates—you know, thinking that would explain things for Jack.” He regarded Bittner balefully. “Obviously, I made a mistake.”

“Goddamn right you did,” Bittner agreed. “This little son of a bitch had a thing for Joy and finally took it out on her the only way he could. After that, he got a taste for violence. Started killing other girls for the pleasure of it.”

“That’s your proof?” Ron said. “That Casey had a crush on one of the victims?”

Bittner took a step toward Ron, who looked instantly alarmed. “That’s not all Casey said. You woulda heard the rest, but you were nursing that bump on the head he gave you.”

Ron muttered something and moved away, but Bittner was not to be put off. He tailed Ron, a vicious edge to his words. “That’s right,
Ronnie
. The kid manhandled you like you were a toy. He beat the shit out of his mom, even smacked his kid sister around. Why don’t you tell us more about what an angel he is?”

“Officer Bittner,” I said, surprised by the authoritative sound of my own voice, “what is it that Casey said that makes you so certain he’s the killer?”

“I said,”
came a deep, ghastly voice from behind us,
“that the sound of Joy’s pussy ripping open made me come in my pants.”

We all turned and stared.

“Oh Jesus,” Ron said in a hollow voice.

Casey Hartman was looking up at us, a look of unmitigated evil contorting his face.

Part Two

Breaking Point

Chapter Four

Father Sutherland would not confirm it for another hour or so, but at that moment, when I beheld the depthless evil carved in that formerly innocent countenance, I knew beyond a doubt that Casey Hartman was possessed.

His eyebrows were hideously arched, the forehead above them deeply wrinkled. The eyes had gone a blazing scarlet hue, the skin a pallid white. But it was the leer stretching his lips that did it, the soulless, mocking grin that erased all semblance of humanity from that horrid face.

In a voice nothing like a child’s, the thing on the bed said,
“Mary Ellen Alspaugh howled like a mongrel when I took a hacksaw to her tits.”

“You fucking monster,” Bittner said and made straight for Casey.

“Stop it,” Danny hissed, somehow managing to lunge between Bittner and Casey before Bittner could tear the boy’s limbs off.

Though I knew I would do little good against the behemoth struggling to attack the boy, I joined Danny in holding him back. We succeeded for only a few seconds. First, Bittner cast me aside as though I were a yapping puppy. I hit the floor and heard a peculiar squelching sound. A downward glance showed me I’d landed where Casey Hartman had savaged his fists on the wood floor earlier that evening; there was a sticky patina of blood all around where I lay. Scrambling to my feet and slipping several times, I caught a peripheral glance of Danny and Bittner, who were still grappling. But Bittner was too big, too inexorable. He pivoted and heaved Danny toward Ron, who I noted with disdain hadn’t lifted a finger to protect his son from the berserk cop. Bittner stalked toward Casey’s bedside and encountered the boy’s last line of defense:

Father Sutherland.

Far from seeming intimidated by the approaching hulk, Sutherland merely remained where he’d been, perhaps daring Bittner to physically assault a member of the clergy. For a moment it seemed Bittner would do just that. He advanced to within a foot of Sutherland, his broad jaw looming toward the older man like the prow of some haunted barge.

But Sutherland’s gambit seemed to work. Bittner neither laid hands on the priest nor made a grab for Casey.

“Get out of my way, Father,” Bittner said in a dangerously low voice.

“You brought me here tonight, Officer Bittner. I’ve sworn to uphold certain beliefs, just as you and Officer Hartman have. I need to examine this child, and I cannot have you threatening him while I do so.”

Bittner didn’t move, but his eyes flicked irresolutely from Sutherland to the boy.

Sutherland continued, “He is restrained. He poses no danger to you nor anyone else. Whether or not he has anything to do with the murders you so commendably want to solve is an issue we’ll address later tonight. For now, Officer Bittner, I implore you—let us do our jobs.”

At this last he nodded at me, and I made sure to reflect in my bearing and expression the same aura of dignity that Sutherland projected. I fought an urge to wipe my hands on my robe. The blood on my fingers felt slimy.

Evidently satisfied by my look, Sutherland said, “You shall respond to my reading, Father Crowder. Are you ready?”

“Wait,” Ron said. “You’re not going ahead with it, are you?”

Looking impatient but demonstrating what I considered admirable restraint, Sutherland said, “How Casey responds to the reading will be one of the indicators of his true condition. Now,
please
, Mr. Hartman.”

“You wanna hear how Ashley Panagopoulos’s head sounded while I bashed it on the floor of her bedroom?” the croaking voice from the bed asked.

“Motherfucker,” Bittner said, his lips drawn back.

The Casey-thing leered at Bittner. “Or would you rather know what your daughter’s squeals will sound like when I sodomize her with a carving knife?”

Bittner pounced.

I couldn’t believe how easily he bulled through us, swatting us aside like rotten saplings in his eagerness to get his hands on Casey.

“I could just take you in,” he said, grasping the boy by the T-shirt, “but I’m not gonna let you off that easy.”

Danny grabbed at Bittner, but with a single jab Bittner sent Danny reeling toward the wall.

“I’ll rape your daughter, Bittner,” the Casey-thing said. “I’ll make her beg for mercy before I disembowel her.”

“You’ll be dead first, you bastard.”

The monstrous face on the bed changed, a new idea occurring to the presence inhabiting Casey. “Maybe I’ll make you watch while I do her!”

Sutherland tried to intercede, but Bittner thrust him roughly aside. Bittner cocked a fist.

The awful grin on Casey’s face split wider.
“Give it to me, Jack. Give it to me
hard
.”

Bittner complied.

The boy’s head whipped sideways with the blow, a splat of blood stippling the ivory headboard.

“Don’t touch him!” Sutherland shouted.

But this time Bittner’s rage brooked no interruption. He grabbed Casey by the shirtfront and began shaking him, the boy’s head thrashing up and down in crisp, brutal arcs.

“Leave him alone, Jack!” Danny shouted, but the moment Danny reached for Bittner, the big man whirled, seized Danny by the shoulders and head-butted him. The sound made me ill, like a blunt ax chunking into an oak tree. Danny staggered back, a crimson starburst of blood glistening between his eyebrows.

Sutherland made for Bittner again, and while the older priest did not succeed in wrestling the giant cop away from Casey, he was able to deter him long enough to allow Ron and me to join the fray.

Grabbing hold of one of Bittner’s railroad-tie-sized arms, I marveled at Sutherland’s ability to keep the man at bay so long. Likely attracted by the cacophony, Liz had joined us too. She was gamely hauling back on the collar of Bittner’s coat. Danny lay in a heap near the wall, apparently knocked insensate from Bittner’s attack.

The four of us had just begun to achieve a measure of progress in our attempts to move Bittner away from the boy when Casey spoke up again in a new voice, one that chilled me with its wheedling cruelty.

“Oh
my
, Jack,” the voice said in a tone so derisive and full of revelation that we all turned and looked at the boy, “I never would’ve guessed it of you. You love your daughter all right, but you
lust
after her friends.”

Bittner’s eyes flared. “You son of a bitch.”

“You dream of bending them over, of punishing them, of—”

I lost the next part in the melee that ensued, which was just as well. The things Casey was saying were some of the vilest I’d ever heard. And coming from a priest who has taken thousands of confessions, that’s saying a great deal.

Bittner slugged Sutherland in the gut. Sutherland went down, and without him there to aid us, I knew our resistance wouldn’t last long.

Ron shouted something about brutality, but whatever it was only served to incite Bittner further. He grabbed Ron by the face and bounced the back of his head off the wall. Ron slumped to the floor, looking like he wouldn’t get up anytime soon.

With Liz and me still clinging to the huge cop like barnacles, Bittner waded toward Casey.

“Tell them!” Casey crooned, the sour odor of his breath making my eyes water. Casey laughed, the smell of rotten eggs and dead insects wafting over us. “Tell them how you dream of deflowering your daughter’s friends! How you imagine them spreading their legs for you and writhing in pain while you rut away your frustrations!”

“Shut your sick mouth,” Bittner growled and backhanded Casey in the face. Blood squirted from the boy’s nose, drenching his already blood-spattered T-shirt so that it now looked as if Casey were wearing a red bib.

Liz and I struggled with Bittner, but our attempts had little effect. I’m ashamed to say I was the next one to be discarded. The mad cop half spun and cracked my underjaw with a cudgel fist. My jaw aflame, I collapsed and watched in dismay as he tossed Liz toward where her husband lay against the wall.

“Oh, Jack,”
Casey moaned in a voice eerily like a young woman’s.

“Stop it,” Bittner muttered. Another backhand to the boy’s face, this one sounding like a mallet striking a deer carcass.

But Casey went on.
“Oh, Jack, oh, Jack. Please give me your big cock!”

“Goddammit,”
Bittner muttered. He walloped Casey in the face again, this time with a closed fist.

I attempted to intercede, but Bittner anticipated me, aiming a vicious, blunt elbow that caught me flush in the cheek. The pain was exquisite. I sagged to the floor.

I looked up in time to see Bittner fumbling for his gun. I doubt he would have been so clumsy under normal circumstances, but his rage was too great to allow sure-handedness. He’d just freed his firearm from his hip holster, with the apparent intention of shooting the child, when a voice behind us bellowed,
“Don’t you dare!”

I glanced up and beheld Danny Hartman holding a gun on his partner. Danny’s feet were planted wide, his arms extended. The barrel of the pistol was six feet from the back of Bittner’s head.

Bittner didn’t turn, but he seemed to realize what was happening. He didn’t make a move on Danny, but he didn’t holster his weapon either. His back to Danny, he said, “You really want to do this, partner?”

Danny’s face was slick with blood, and he looked distraught. But there was resolve there too. “I don’t want any of this. But I’m not gonna let you kill this boy.”

Bittner turned, on his pitted face a look of ruthless irony. “This
boy
? You mean this killer of children? This rapist? This monster who speaks filth about my daughter and her friends? Who for all we know has been casing them to pick out his next victim?”

“Put the gun down, Jack.”

“Why should I?”

Danny licked his lips. “Because we don’t know he’s done anything wrong.”

“He attacked his family. He beat up his little sister. He knows everything about the murders. How the hell can you say he hasn’t done anything wrong?”

Bittner’s gun was rising.

Danny’s voice was taut. “Last warning, Jack.”

I don’t know what would’ve happened had Bittner raised his gun high enough to shoot Danny Hartman. Maybe Danny would’ve shot him first. Somehow I doubt it. Maybe Bittner would have slaughtered us all. At that moment he looked crazy enough to do it.

Good thing Sutherland hit him first.

All I saw was a flash of silver over Bittner’s head. Then he dropped soundlessly to the floor as though struck dead by divine judgment.

Father Sutherland lowered the aluminum bat, looking like the holiest man to ever win the Triple Crown.

“Thanks, Father,” Danny said. “I sure didn’t want to shoot him.”

“That’s because you’re a good soul, Danny. Now let’s put Officer Bittner in some place safe.”

“How about jail?” Ron suggested. He was on his feet, but he looked groggy. Liz, too, was rising.

Danny brought up a trembling hand, massaged his forehead. “That won’t work.”

Ron turned to his little brother with an expression of slow-dawning amazement. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me I’m supposed to keep him in the
house
? After what he did? After he beat up my Casey? Threatened to
kill
him?”

Danny’s voice was level. “You turn Jack in to the precinct—that
is
what you’re proposing right?—you do that and how long do you think it’ll be before he tells them everything that’s gone on here tonight? How long do you realistically expect them to wait before they take Casey in too?” Danny glanced at the thing on the bed, which watched them with a sardonic gleam in its eyes. “You really want my bosses to see your son in this state? You think they’re gonna know what to make of it? Or be sympathetic to a kid who talks about the killings the way he’s been doing, not to mention beating up on his own family?”

Father Sutherland moved around and got his arms under Bittner’s back. With an effortless heave, he had Bittner hooked under the armpits. Nodding, he said, “Get his legs, Danny. Jason, you get the door.”

As Bittner’s motionless body was muscled across the room, Ron threw up his arms in exasperation. “Isn’t Danny gonna stay here and guard my son? Casey’s already shown how dangerous he can be.”

I said, “Your son needs help, not an armed guard,” and Liz favored me with such an appreciative glance that my belly somersaulted. Then I was opening the door for Father Sutherland and Danny.

But Ron was not to be put off. Stalking after our slow-moving group, he said, “Where are you taking him?”

“The cruiser,” Danny said. “I’ll make him comfortable in the back and lock him in.”

Ron groaned. “Hey, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t exactly Humboldt Park around here. What’ll happen when this gorilla wakes up and starts wailing? You think my neighbors are gonna go for that?”

“How large is your lot?” Sutherland asked. As he and Danny lugged Bittner down the hallway, I could finally start to hear some of the strain in his voice.

“What’s that got to do with it?” Ron demanded.

“Two acres,” Liz said.

Straining to support Bittner’s considerable bulk, Sutherland said, “With all the trees and the distance…not to mention the storm raging outside…there’ll be very little chance anyone will hear Bittner’s cries. He’ll be inside the car, remember.”

“Can’t you gag him?” Ron asked.

Danny shook his head. “Don’t like to do that if I can help it. Some guys are mouth breathers. Or maybe just congested. Put a gag in the wrong person’s mouth, he could asphyxiate.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a loss,” Ron muttered.

I watched Liz shut the door to Danny’s room and stand there a moment, clearly overcome with anguish and sorrow. I waited for her, and as she approached, I murmured what comforting words I could. Without acknowledging me, Liz went down the stairs after the others.

I descended a few moments later, but only after I gazed at that six-paneled ivory door for a long moment. I didn’t want to go back in there.