The man nodded once.
“Father Danto. Thank you for coming. Please, come in.” He stepped aside, allowing the priest entry into his home.
The priest carried a worn canvas bag, which he placed at his feet. The two men stared at each other for a moment, having only once spoken on the phone. Their gazes meshed as magnetic opposites, one laden with grief and desperation, the other, intelligence and understanding.
“Reverend James Thornton,” he said, breaking the charged silence. He offered his hand. A gentle rush of electricity passed between them as they shook: a bond, at once created in a union of forces.
From somewhere above, or below, horrid wails arose: the voice of the boy, rattling the house’s windows. The lights flickered; a stench of sewage blew in from the vents.
“He knows you’re here,” Thornton said, clutching his cheek nervously.
Danto nodded, eyes searching the room. He cocked an ear, perceiving something...something familiar.
Intimate
. “Give me a few short moments to prepare,” he requested, senses still assessing the environment.
“Of course,” Thornton said.
“The bathroom, please,” Danto said.
Thornton showed the way, across the living room. The priest glanced down as he paced across the stained carpet. He entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind. Silence dominated from within. Thornton still wondered how the priest knew of Allieb, his phone call yesterday coming so suddenly, and unexpectedly.
A gift from God
, he could only presume, asking no immediate questions of the holy man. In minutes, Danto emerged from the bathroom, donned in a black robe, brown wooden rosaries, and a silver cross. He handed a worn Bible to Thornton.
“You say he is your son?”
Thornton nodded. “Adopted.”
“From Israel...”
“Yes, that is correct—”
“And he goes by the name of Allieb.”
This repeat discussion from yesterday drew heavily on Thornton’s curiosity. “How do you know of this?”
Danto peered around the room, a glint of intensity in his eyes. “I followed him here.” He gazed knowingly at the basement door. “Let us begin right away.”
The priest stepped aside, allowing Thornton to lead the way. The minister, hesitant and staring at first, swallowed hard and ushered the priest to the triple-bolted steel door. As he unlocked the deadbolts, he remarked, “He killed my wife.”
The priest nodded, as though he’d already known.
The door creaked open, darkness and rancid air pulling at them. From below, a sharp pounding began, and a loud taunting voice ripped through the air. “The children taste delicious, Danto.” Then, in an almost sensual tone, “
Wanna
try some?”
The priest stared down into the darkness, motionless, nodding his head with recognition. “It
is
him. Allieb. The demonologist.”
“Come play with me Danto.”
The sharp poundings stopped, and were immediately replaced with a rattling of chains, and ensuing animalistic barks.
Thornton leaned forward, pulled a tiny chain dangling from the ceiling which ignited a bare bulb at the bottom of the steps. Danto hooked his arm through Thornton’s, then nodded. Slowly, they walked downstairs, gripping their Bibles tightly. The growls below segued into a series of grisly laughs, then, tapered down into complete silence as the two holy men reached the bottom step.
The air here was cold, filled with dread and things gone afoul. The two men stared blankly at Allieb. The ten year-old boy was sitting on the cement floor, naked in his own feces, thick link chains wrapped about his wrists and ankles, fed through heavy eyehooks screwed into the cinder walls just beyond his reach. He leaped forward, the muscles in his limbs straining as they fought their bonds, the skin beneath the chains red and raw. The boy snarled, baring his teeth, black tongue flickering in and out of his bleeding lips. His penis stood erect, strangely large, mottled with purple bruises. This aggressive conduct lasted a minute, until Allieb fell silently still against the cinder wall, stomach ballooning up and down, wolfish eyes contemplating the two men as they stared him down in silent prayer.
Alongside the boy lay a human femur bone, stripped clean of its flesh.
He killed my wife
...
The boy-demon smiled wickedly. “Let us play,” he growled.
Still holding hands, Bev and Rebecca followed close behind Father Danto as he guided them across the altar through a doorway leading into the rectory. The hard aroma of fresh paint hung thickly in the air, stinging their nostrils.
“They just finished cleaning everything,” he said. “Took three coats to cover the bloodstains. I’m the only one here right now. Everyone else will be moving back in tomorrow morning.” Rebecca, unaware of the crime that had taken place at the rectory, looked around questioningly, eyes wide and skittish.
They crossed through a short hallway into an empty reception area. To the left rose a set of carpeted steps, leading into darkness. Danto flipped a switch on the wall in the foyer, bringing light into the second floor. They climbed the stairs, angling into a hallway lined with closed doors. Danto fished a key from his front pocket, unlocked the second door on the right, and guided them inside.
The room was meagerly decorated: an aluminum-framed twin bed alongside a small end table supporting a shaded lamp and telephone. On the opposite wall was an easy chair and a small television. Like the rest of the rectory, the floor was carpeted in dull blue, a cotton curtain in a near-matching color shading the room’s only window. Sheets of rain slashed the dark pane.
“Can I get you some water?” Danto asked.
“Please,” Bev replied, Rebecca nodding along. Danto retrieved three plastic bottles from a small icebox next to the room’s lone window. He handed one to each of them, and drank from the third.
“I need to call my daughter,” Bev announced abruptly. He walked over to the end table, grabbed the telephone handset. Quickly, he punched in Kristin’s apartment number. No answer. Then, her cell. Again, nothing. After six rings, he left a harried voice message, then nervously set the phone back into its cradle. He blew out a deep, anxious breath.
Saw her getting into a limo last night. ‘Bout seven or so. Last I’ve seen her
.
Rebecca asked, “Kristin…is she okay?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” Trying to shake the troubling thought from his mind, he turned his attention to Danto. “You said you were expecting me.”
The priest nodded. “Take a seat,” he said, motioning to the bed. Danto sat down on the edge of the easy chair. “There is much to discuss, and very little time to do it.”
Bev and Rebecca shared the foot of the bed, facing the priest. In the pause of the moment, Rebecca asked, “Bev…what’s going on?”
Looking toward the floor, Bev attested, “I don’t know…there’s been some terrible things happening to me over the last couple of days. I came here, hoping...” He looked at Danto, “Hoping to get some answers.”
Danto, staring intensely at Bev, as though searching for something
in
him, replied, “You did good, Bev. You’ve come to the right place.”
“Well...what is it then?” Despite his demanding tone, the question had been asked with a bit of hesitance. In the back of Bev’s mind were the various texts on demonology he’d read while poking around in Kristin’s office, and one essay in particular that had gone into great detail with respect to the symptoms of an individual possessed by a demon. It appeared now, given those texts, plus Danto’s proclaimed expertise at the party and his apparent knowledge of Bev’s situation, that Bev might indeed be harboring a spirit of some malevolent nature, as crazy as that sounded. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, cursing silently to himself, wishing his assumption to be wrong. “I’m getting the impression you know what’s happening to me—and might even know why.” He opened his tired eyes, staring at Danto.
“I do know, Bev,” Danto replied. “It would help if you told me everything that’s been happening to you over the last two days.”
Bev nodded, feeling a sense of frustration despite his measured understanding of Danto’s point of view; he wanted answers, and he wanted them
now
. He took a sip of water and realized that his experiences over the last forty-eight hours might very well shed some additional light onto the situation, especially to a man who had a good deal of prior knowledge and facts rolling around in his head.
So he started from the very beginning, divulging every last detail: the sudden onset of confusion while performing on stage, the odd lightheaded sensation that had come and gone, bringing about a strange disassociation with the music; the panic attack in the backstage bathroom, the dark man at the party (to which Danto nodded responsively), and the envelope he left at the diner. Bev told him about the beetles in his apartment that had seemed to appear and disappear at will (Rebecca responded with a look of horror, not unlike Kristin had); about the numerous episodes that had occurred while driving: how he’d felt unexplainably angry and hostile; the out-of-body feeling and the sudden aroma of burning coals; the fingers in his head that had simulated a sensation of digging, as though his skull were slowly being chipped away at; the sudden anxiety; and, the voice in his head: accented, and foretelling.
He spoke of his lunch date with Kristin at the beach, how he’d finally opened the envelope and found that he’d been invited to some sort of exclusive gathering (Danto nodded again). He mentioned the men that had followed them along the beach, and the demon-like hallucinations that had appeared in his reflections; of his apparent blackout and subsequent waking up at Jake’s party; and then, the events following the party: Jake being drunk, Bev and Rebecca spending the night together—revealing this brought about memories of his dreams, of how he’d awoken with the slashes on his palms after meeting Father Danto in a sea of lava. He went on to describe his meeting with Doctor
Palumba
, and then, his trip to Kristin’s apartment and his dark discoveries within: her
occultic
studies, plus, Julianne’s polluted past and her apparent self-sacrifice to the dark side in an effort to bring about success for Bev and Kristin.
He continued with the phone call from Rebecca about Jake’s sudden passing, his meeting with Detective Grover, and the scars on his hands that had mysteriously healed. He told of the rearrangement of the studio in his apartment (including the pentagram shape constructed with his guitars), and his mental communication with the presence upon the limo’s arrival. And then, finally, his decision to flee after the terrible attack on his mind and body. When Bev appeared finished, Rebecca explained to Danto of her arrival at Bev’s place and her hurried decision to follow him in the woods for fear that he might hurt himself over Jake’s death.
Danto remained silent, staring at Bev with disconcerted eyes, as though waiting for him to add a few more important details. Finally, Bev asked, “What do you make of all this?”
The priest nodded in earnest. “I make much of it.” He looked at his watch, then leaned over, pulled the curtain aside, and peered out the rainy-wet window. “The hour is getting late. We have much work ahead of us, and so little time.”
“Work? What work? Father, please...can you give me a bit of insight here before I completely lose my mind?”
The priest grinned ruefully. “You are not losing your mind...in a clinical sense, that is. But, there is something dire happening...something that is not only affecting you, but a number of other people as well. At this very moment, there are other innocents out there—unoffending folks like yourself—that are experiencing all the same terrible sensations you are. And, many at this point, I might add, to a much greater degree.”
“Jesus, are you trying to tell me that it gets worse than
this
?”
“Afraid so.”
“Please, Father, what is it? What’s happening?” In a dark corner of his mind, however, he already knew.
It can only be speculated as to what an individual may experience while under demonic possession. At first, they may feel suddenly ill, nauseous and dizzy
...