“Pastor Ames?” Gini Jertz’s eyes were almost as raw and bloodshot as her son this morning. “Are you all right? What happened?”
“I’m fine.” Ames shrugged out of his long coat and hugged his books to his chest. “I’m—sorry for running away this morning. I had a . . . a crisis of faith. But I’m ready again. How is Chris?”
“I had to tie him down more.” I saw a bruise across her cheek. “It wasn’t easy. He slept a little. I managed to make him eat some cold soup, but then he threw it up.”
We heard a sudden roar from the bedroom. “Is it him? Is he back? Come on in, pastor anus! I’m ready for you!”
Pastor anus? This demon had a 12th-grader’s sense of humor.
Ames sighed. “Some water, please?”
Gini Jertz scampered to the kitchen.
I took my own jacket off. “Can I help?”
“No.” His voice, shaky before, was firm now. “Stay out there. I have to do this myself.”
I held a hand out. “Be careful.”
“I have my faith. For now, at least.” We shook.
Gini Jertz came out carrying a bottle of water. “Here you are.”
“Thank you.” He turned toward the hall. Then hesitated. “Whatever Chris says, don’t come into the room unless I tell you. No matter what he says, it’s not Chris. It’s the demon talking. Promise me.”
Gini nodded. “I promise. God bless you.”
“Me too.”
“Thank you.” Ames started down the hall.
We waited.
Chris screamed. Gini paced in circles, biting her lip. Sometimes she cried. She turned on the TV once, then turned it off two minutes later.
I called Rachel with an update. I asked to use the bathroom. Gini offered me water and something to eat, and I finally had a sandwich. Sliced ham and Velveeta cheese. What? I’d missed lunch.
By 11:30 I was dozing on the couch. Gini had a late-night talk show on, the volume down close to silence. For an hour Chris’s room had been almost quiet. A few loud grunts, and handful of prayers loud enough to hear down the hall, but less than the first hour or so, filled with shrieks and swearing. I only hoped the neighbors didn’t call the police.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Gini was snoring softly. Was it over?
Gini sat up. “Should we—”
I held up a hand. “No. Wait.”
Then a scream like a rabid banshee shook the walls.
“Jurgen!” It was Ames. “Get in here!”
I jumped up, staggering as I darted down the hall to Chris’s bedroom. Gini was right behind me.
Inside Ames stood next to the bed, his white shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up, dripping with sweat. The lamp next to Chris’s headboard had been knocked over, the lightbulb smashed, but the light overhead cast a dim gaze down on the room, shadows flickering as the overhead fan swung in a wide endless circle.
Chris lay on the sheets, his head drooping to one side, drool sliding down his cheek. He looked unconscious, but his chest rose up and down. Still breathing.
“Get him out of here.” Ames’s voice was raspy. “Right now!”
Gini had tied his arms to the bedposts with extension cords. She reached into her pocket for the key to the bicycle lock, and I managed to unsnap it as she struggled to loosen the cords.
Ames trembled on his feet, as if fighting some force inside his skull.
Gini put an arm under her son’s shoulders. I pushed his legs in her direction, then raced around the bed to help her hoist him up. She did most of the lifting, and the carrying, as we ferried him out of the bedroom. She was his mother, after all.
We dropped him on the couch. Chris groaned and blinked. “M-mom?”
“Chris?” She knelt and wrapped her arms around him. “Are you all right?”
“God, I’m so hungry.” He closed his eyes.
She smiled.
I turned and headed back toward the bedroom.
Ames rocked on his feet, the eyes behind his glasses rolling back into their sockets. I grabbed his shoulder. “Pastor Ames! Are you all right?”
His eyes came back. His glasses gleamed with hatred.
His voice was hoarse and angry. “I am Belphegor.”
Damn it.
I don’t know as much about exorcisms as Neal Simmons—or his friend Luther—but I knew that once a demon is cast out of a person, it usually looks for the nearest possible host to possess. Okay, I got that from the movies, but it looked true now. Belphegor was inside him.
Which meant I had to do this again. Rachel was going to kill me.
“Pastor Ames!” I grabbed both his arms. “Remember Barbara! Remember Karen! Remember Jenna!”
Ames laughed. “Barbara is weak,” he said in the demon’s hollow voice. “Diseased. Worthless. Jenna hates you—she wants her father—the one who raised her. Karen? Karen is a whore. Her ex-husband divorced her because she was with other men, sometimes more than one, sometimes—”
I slapped his face. “Shut up! Don’t listen to him, Francis! Demon—you’re done here! Go back to Hell!”
Ames’s body stiffened. His eyes shot wide.
“You.” He smiled, as if he knew me.
Maybe it did. I’ve confronted more than anybody’s share of demons. I even visited Hell once.
I stepped back. I could run. But what about Ames? And Gini and Chris, and Barbara and Karen and Jenna, and—
What about Rachel?
That had screwed me up last time. A demon had told me things about Rachel I didn’t want to know. It almost destroyed our relationship.
That’s what demons do. They try to destroy your faith.
I leaned forward. “Pastor Ames! Help me! Help me!”
Ames blinked. “What . . .” He seemed to struggle to focus his eyes behind his glasses. “Jurgen?”
“Please help me!” I held onto his arms. “We can do this! Send it back to Hell! But I can’t do it on my own!”
Cold wind whipped through the room, even though the window was closed. Ames gripped my hand. He shook his head, as if trying to clear cobwebs from his brain.
Then he smiled.
Ames leaned back, until I was afraid he was going to fall over. He lifted his head. And shouted.
“Begone, Belphegor!” His voice shook. “You have no dominion here! Back to Hell, you weak and pathetic excuse for a demon! Get out!”
I grabbed his shoulders again. His knees collapsed. He toppled on the carpet, his body shaking, and I fell too, sprawling next to him.
The wind whirled over us, icy and hard. I wrapped an arm around Ames to protect him. But he pushed my hand away and laughed.
Laughed.
The wind died away. I rolled over. The fan swung lazily in the ceiling. The air was quiet. My heart was pounding.
Ames patted my chest. “Thank you, Tom.” He sat up. “I think we’re done here.”
Belphegor was gone. Back to Hell, I hoped.
“Where the hell have you been?” Rachel looked ready to strangle me, and for a moment I would rather have been facing Belphegor again.
“Finishing the exorcism.” I hung my jacket up. “Victim’s okay. Exorcist is okay. I’m okay. Just another day at the office.”
“Jerk.” She punched me. Then she kissed me. She was in blue sweatpants and a black T-shirt, and for a moment I forgot about demons and all the rest.
Then she got me a beer and demanded the story. I told her everything, of course.
“Gini Jertz was feeding Chris everything in sight when I left. After putting him in a shower and changing the bedsheets.” I gulped my beer. “I followed Pastor Ames home—I mean, back home to his wife.” I’d watched him go up the door, then drove away. His relationships were his own business. “Yeah, Gini Jertz made me a sandwich. Did I mention I sent a demon back to Hell?”
“You want another sandwich? Doritos? Pizza?”
I was hungry. But also tired. “I just want to go to bed. What time is it? Did you watch The Mandalorian without me?”
“Of course.” She kissed the top of my head. “Sleep late tomorrow, you idiot. If you’re lucky, I might make you breakfast.”
I grabbed her hand. “Thanks.”
We went to bed. And after a while I feel asleep.
Belphegor haunted my dreams.
# # #
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