The Ax-Lover, Part Four

Shore wore a pair of jeans, barefoot, and a white T-shirt soaked with sweat. His wrists and ankles were raw from the plastic ties holding him down. His hair was tangled, his face stained with dirt and blood.

            Hannah sat next to the bed with a damp towel in her hands. She tried to wipe Shore’s face, but first he twisted away from her, then turned back and lunged, teeth bared like a wolf trying to bite her. She jumped back with a yelp.

            I stepped back. “What the hell?”

            “He came here two days ago.” Blackburn gazed down at Shore. “I’ve been trying to cure him ever since.”

            “What—How did he get here? The prison—”

            “I brought him.” Jason closed the door. “He’s—we were friends. Before he went to prison. He came to my house. Begging, crying. I had to help him.” He took a swig of whiskey from his bottle.

            “So you’re doing the exorcism?” I looked at the bed.

            Shore’s eyes were closed, his breathing ragged. For the moment he was still, but his muscles stayed tense, like he was ready to start pulling at his restraints without warning.

            “I’ve been trying.” Blackburn sighed and sat on a chair. “This demon is tough. Tenacious. He calls himself the Ax-Lover. He’s fighting.”

            “Shouldn’t you have a doctor here? He’s bleeding. Feverish.”

            “No outsiders.” He stared me up and down. “But you know Charlie. And you seem to understand exorcism.”

            “I’ve been—involved in a few of them.” I actually performed one myself, once. It worked, but mostly because I got lucky. “This seems dangerous.”

            “It’s always dangerous. Satan is the father of lies. He’ll do anything to keep control.”

            “Also, you’re harboring a fugitive. That’s dangerous, too, if they find him here with you.”

            Blackburn snorted. “I’m battling the powers of Satan, demons who can twist minds and devour souls. State troopers are the least of my worries.”

            I looked around. Jason was standing at the doorway, tdhe bottle of whiskey at his feet now.  “You know he’s got to go back to prison, don’t you?”

“There’s a worse kind of prison,” Blackburn said. “The prison of the mind. And the soul.”

            Shore suddenly lurched up from the bed. Hannah jumped. 

            “Filth!” Shore shouted. “Filth in your mouth, filth on your shoes, filth in your filthy soul! Pour it out! Spew it on me! I revel in it! Your spit, your vomit, your sperm, all of it! Give it to me!”

            “Satan.” Blackburn stood up. “You have no dominion here. In the name of our savior Jesus Christ, I order you to leave this place. In the name of the Father, the Son, and—”

            Shore—or the Ax-Lover—laughed. “You want it! You’re hungry for it! The filth, the filth from the earth, from the dirt! From the dirty body! You!” His face jerked toward Hannah. “You take it, all of his filth, don’t you? You take it everywhere, anytime! You—” He leered at Stephen. “You want her, don’t you? You dream of licking her body, her sweat, her hair, her snot—”

            “You are cast out!” Blackburn lifted the cross from his neck and thrust it at the bed. “In the name of the Holy Spirit, in the name of almighty God, go back to the depths you came from! You will hear and obey—” 

            “Who’s that?” Shore’s eyes locked on me. “New flesh? Fresh blood? I know what you want. What do you want? You want it bad—you want all our filthy secrets, our deep perverted thoughts, everything they know, everything you know—”

            “Out, Satan!” Blackburn pushed the cross at Shore’s face. Shore growled and stretched his neck, trying to bite at Blackburn’s hand. “Back to hell!” He jerked the cross away, letting it swing in his fingers as Shore’s teeth clenched. “In the name of the Father! In the name of the Son! In the name of the Holy Spirit!”

I edged toward the door, hoping Jason would move out of the way. He stared at me, his eyes dull and glassy. He was drunk, but not too drunk to punch me if I tried to get around him.

“He’s running! He’s scared!” Shore’s voice rang across the room. “He knows! He knows all the secrets! Don’t let him tell! Keep him quiet! Or I’ll tell your secret, Jason!”

Jason took a stumbling step toward the bed. “What s-secrets?” 

“Don’t engage,” I told him. “Don’t let him in.”

“You want to know?” Shire laughed. “You want me to tell? All of you?” He looked at Hannah. “The whore?” Then at Stephen. “You and your dreams? You—” At me. “And your girlfriend. What’s she doing while you’re—”

This had happened once before, and it almost ended badly for Rachel and me. I wanted to tell him to shut up. I wanted to slap him, choke him, but I knew better. Arguing with a demon is an invitation to possession. I turned away.

“And you?” Shore gazed at Jason. “Drunk. Drugs. And worse. A whole lot worse—”

“Shut up!” Jason shouted. He swung around and pushed on the door, stumbling out into the hall. 

“Satan, I order you,” Blackburn repeated, “in the name of our savior Jesus Christ, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy—”

“Your secrets, father!” Shore screamed. “The desires seeping through your soul, the ache in your belly, your mother, your mother’s—”

“Get out!” Blackburn shouted back. “Leave this man! Leave him in peace! The Lord God commands you! Jesus Christ commands you! You have no power here! Only the Lord has power, and it’s by His will that I cast you out! I cast you away, Satan! I cast you away!”

The door banged behind me. I turned.

It was Jason back. Carrying the shotgun. 

Blackburn glanced over his shoulder. “Put that away.” His forehead was sweaty. “We’re getting close. It’s a delicate moment. Stephen, get it from him.”

“Make him shut up!” Jason lifted the shotgun to his shoulder. Stephen froze.

“Jason.” I held up a hand. My heart was pounding, but that’s never been enough to shut me up. “That isn’t helping. Put the gun down. Your friend needs help.”

 “Make him stop!” His eyes were bloodshot, and his voice was raw. “He’s not my friend! Just make him stop!”

Before anybody could move or speak, the room started to shake, as if a cold, fierce wind was roaring through it, chilling our faces, cutting through our skin to freeze our bones. Hannah sank to the ground and wrapped her arms around her bare legs. Blackburn took an involuntary step away from the bed, breathing hard. Stephen stood over Hannah protectively.

Jason looked up at the ceiling. “What is it?” I could barely hear him over the rushing wind.

Then the bed began to rise in the air.

My reporters’ instincts kicked in, and I pulled my phone out. The bed was six inches off the floor and rising higher, the sheets swirling in the wind. Shore struggled against his restraints, and Blackburn was shouting at him—I heard “Holy Spirit” and “Jesus,” but the rest disappeared in the stormy air. Shore howled, his face red and twisted. 

Jason let the shotgun tip toward the floor as he leaned against the wall for support, shading his eyes from the wind. My legs trembled as I fought to stay upright and keep my phone pointed at Shore and the levitating bed. 

It was a foot off the floor now, rocking side to side, with Shore tumbling from one edge to the other, held by the restraints around his wrists and ankles. His head sagged, tongue dangling out, bloody and bitten, dripping blood over his chin and neck. His eyes rolled back in his head. His face was almost black, and his chest heaved as if he was fighting for air.

Blackburn kept preaching, his words almost a chant. I looked at the door. Jason couldn’t stop me, if I could stay on my feet and rush past him. But I wanted to keep shooting this. I wondered what Rachel would say if the cops found it next to my dead body—

Then the bed fell. It hit the floor with a loud thunderclap, and I almost dropped my phone. Blackburn bent forward, holding the edge of the bed as he gasped for breath. 

The air was still and silent. After a moment the ringing in my ears started to fade, and I heard the sound of ragged breathing from everyone—Hannah on the floor, Stephen standing over her, Jason near the door, and Shore on the bed.

I stepped forward to point the camera at him. His face, twisted and black a moment ago, was pale now. His hair was streaked with sweat. His breathing was shallow.

Blackburn slowly straightened up. He put a hand on Shore’s wrist, as if checking for a pulse. “Praise God,” he murmured.

“Is it—is it over?” Hannah asked.

Looks like,” I said. I zoomed in on Shore’s face, focusing on his glassy eyes, then dropped the phone in my pocket. “He probably needs a doctor now.”

Stephen helped Hannah stand up. Blackburn let go of Shore’s hand and bent over his face. “Charles? Charlie? Are you awake?”

“Uhhh . . .” Shore groaned. He blinked, then lifted his head. “Wh—what happened? Am I . . . Reverend?”

“Satan is gone.” Blackburn planted a hand on his forehead. “Blessed be God.”

Shore looked around. “Why am I tied up? Who—who are you?” He peered at me. “Do I know you?”

“How much do you remember?” I asked. 

“I remember . . .” He closed his eyes. “Oh hell. Oh God. Oh no.” His head dropped back. “I was in prison. I was . . .”

He pushed his head up again. “It was—it wasn’t—I didn’t—I didn’t—wait.” He swallowed. “Wait, I remember. I remember now. I remember it. I remember—” He looked past me. Toward the door. “Jason?”

Standing in the doorway, Jason held the shotgun, pointed at Shore’s head. 

“Yeah, Jason is in here.” His smile was wide. “Thank you, Reverend. That one was almost used up anyway. And I’ve been here before. Remember, Charlie?”

Jason laughed.