Kick (The Jenkins Cycle Book 1) (26 page)

And I couldn’t—of that, I felt positive.

“Demons lie,” he said.

If he called me a liar every time I told him something then this wasn’t going to work.

“I saw the Exorcist too,” I said. “But I’m not a demon and you’re not Father Merrin. I’m something different.”

In a steady tone, the minister said, “I didn’t just see the Exorcist, I’ve read
De Exorcismus et Supplicationibus Quibusdam
in seminary school. Not only do demons lie, they lie well, and thus they are perfectly capable of sounding as innocent and convincing as you to gain an advantage.”

I thought for a second. A quick second, because I didn’t think I had much time before he broke out the holy water and rosary.

“Look,” I said, “either you’re a Catholic or you’re a Universalist, like you told me. You either believe the church’s dogma or you don’t.”

“Outside standing beside a bona fide demon, then yeah, sure, you’re right.”

Great
.

My very existence pulled his faith like a magnet, dragging him back to his roots. Briefly, I considered just running away. I hadn’t broken any laws, and didn’t think he could catch me once I started moving. If he started blabbing to everyone about the big bad demon possessing Nate, people would just assume he was crazy and I was trying to get away. It could work.

I shook my head. No, I wouldn’t run. If this were another test, I decided I wanted to pass this time.

“I am not a demon,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I am not lying. There’s something going on that you don’t understand, and guess what? I don’t understand it either. I’m here, I have something to do, and when it’s done I’ll move on—off to another body to solve a problem the original occupant wasn’t willing or capable of solving himself. And when I’ve left him the world will be a better place for it. And I have every reason to believe that it is God Himself who sanctions it.”

If I told him too much, I worried he’d cast me out immediately. So I held back the part about how I often killed the person whose body I took over. Sure, I couldn’t lie to him, but I didn’t have to go blabbing everything, either.

Not giving him a chance to tease out the omission, I said, “Wouldn’t a demon have a better lie than that? Wouldn’t he have a better plan than walking out here with an ex-priest and spouting craziness like this—at a wedding, for crying out loud?”

Pointing at me, the minister said, “Who knows? Perhaps that’d be just what the doctor ordered for a wishy-washy questioner like myself. In spiritual matters, logic must yield to faith, for no man can outwit the Deceiver.”

“Or,” I said, pointing at
him
to see how
he
liked it, “it’s a completely different test of faith. You claim to be a Universalist, something like an agnostic but—”

Shaking his head, he said, “I’m not an agnostic. Agnostics allow for the idea there may be no God. It’s a smug faith with a cheap insurance policy.”

“Fine, whatever, but you know what I’m talking about—you’re not exactly rigid is what I’m saying. That’s a brave step for a man of faith, but you didn’t think it ended there, did you? I’ve seen more than most how God really works—it’s never that easy, trust me.”

I could see him thinking it over, testing the purity of my words against the weight of a feather. I wanted him to believe me, and not just so I could stay and keep living. It was more than that. Clowning around at Hardlickers and driving fast cars was nice, but this was different. For the first time, I felt a sense of purpose that extended beyond the mindless discover/judge/sentence script I’d been following for so long. I needed to be here, even if I didn’t know why, and felt the minister was part of it. I couldn’t say why, but I knew if he cast me out now something awful would happen.

“Well, if you’re not a demon,” he said, sounding almost petulant, “why did you react like one when I touched you?”

I’d been asking myself the same question since it happened. If I were here by the grace of Whomever, why would one of his soldiers cause such a violent reaction?

As I started to say something, he surprised me.

“Actually, hold on, I think it’s time I start answering some of these questions myself.”

I shut up and motioned,
By all means.

“Looked at in the best possible light, I’d say this isn’t about you at all. Nothing outside the physical universe can operate within it without being bound to the flesh. Be it demon or angel or, possibly, even God Himself—which explains why Jesus was born into the world and didn’t just appear.”

“Like an emissary for good,” I said. I could see that.

“Or evil,” he said, giving me a significant look. “I’ve always felt that when God gave out free will, he didn’t give it to man alone—he gave it to the physical universe as a whole. Natural selection is a perfect example of this. God didn’t make the animals, he made the process. That process is
randomness
.” He paused for a second, collecting his thoughts. “I’ve always believed the very existence of randomness at the quantum level confirms this. But faith is something else, isn’t it? Faith defies that randomness and insists upon the opposite—that all of creation must ultimately bow to the power of God.”

“So, what are you saying?”

I followed, but it felt like treading water with my ankles tied together. Clearly this was something he’d been thinking about for a lot longer than just today.

The minister allowed a brief smile to escape.

“See? I told you I could talk theology all day. I’m saying it’s not about you—it’s about me.”

“But what does that mean, specifically?”

“It means that I decide whether things from Beyond stay in this universe. That you remain here by
my
will—as a man of morals and of faith.”

Which meant we’d reached an impasse.

Wonderful.

Folding my arms, I said, “That’s the best possible light? I’m afraid to ask for the alternative.”

“The worst possible light would be that you’re a demon, the Pope’s the holiest man alive, and I’m a heretic for leaving the church and have no power over you.”

“Is that what you …?”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit,” he said. “But I can’t let you stay in Nathan’s body like this. You simply have no right.”

“You’re going to find this incredibly convenient,” I said, “but I think I do have a right—at least, this time.”

I explained the strange sense I had on entering the portal from the Great Wherever, how it felt almost like I’d be a guest in Nate’s body. At the time, I blew it off because it didn’t contribute anything practical to my immediate concerns.

When I finished, the minister said, “You’re right, it sounds convenient. Incredibly so.”

I thought for a second. I doubted he’d accept my love of fast cars, junk food and cash as a good enough reason to let me stay.

“Look, there’s a reason this happened to Nate,” I said. “This is God’s will, not mine. Right? Else, I wouldn’t have been able to reach out to him. Does randomness exist outside the physical universe? In God’s domain? If it doesn’t, then I shouldn’t have been able to reach Nate, not without God’s permission.”

The minister’s head quirked sideways. He gave an approving nod my way.

“Not bad. You might be right, but it can’t be confirmed, can it? That would undermine the whole point of faith. Still, proof aside, perhaps it isn’t randomness at work here but another thing altogether. Let’s look at it using the stories we have. Supposedly, Lucifer defied God and was cast into Hell for his rebellion. But how could that happen where there is no randomness?”

It took me a second to realize it wasn’t a rhetorical question, but apparently I waited too long because he started back up again.

“The answer is, simply, a paradox. It could be that outside the physical universe it’s possible for a paradox to exist. We assume that God is omnipotent, but maybe that very omnipotence means he’s capable of diminishing himself on a case-by-case basis.”

“Like what?” I said.

“Well, if you believe in Jesus, you believe that he is part of God made flesh, and therefore subject to the trials of the flesh. But hold on, back up for a second—did you say you ‘reached out?’ From where, exactly? Heaven?”

I shook my head.

“Not any Heaven you’d recognize,” I said. “But a place of some sort. I call it the Great Wherever.”

“The Great Wherever? Fascinating. Continue.”

“One moment I’m alone and the next there’s a doorway of sorts and I just reach out. Usually, the people I enter are pretty bad. The one before Nate was awful.”

Neither of us said anything for about a minute. I could see the minister struggling with what he’d heard but I was afraid to say anything else. He was right on the edge.

Finally, he said, “Your story just keeps getting longer, doesn’t it? Still, if I’m being honest, I don’t think you’re lying to me—or at least, you don’t think you’re lying. And I suppose it’s time for me to be honest, too. I got a glimpse of some of this when I touched your shoulder, but I didn’t know what any of it meant. I saw what you did to… what was his name, Jerry? Killed him with a needle. And another man, missing a thumb. You shot him, stuffed him in a freezer. He tried to murder someone.”

I couldn’t believe he’d seen all that. I worried he also knew about Mr. York and Jake and the long string of Jakes I’d disposed of over the years. I wondered if he knew about Sandra.

“He was also a rapist,” I said. “Did you see that, too? He raped the daughter of the man I saved.”

The minister nodded and said, quietly, “Yes, I saw something of that. Visions. After I touched you, I didn’t know what to think. So I hid. Still, I doubt myself. You could be playing me for a fool, and if you are then I deserve whatever punishment I get.”

I shook my head, losing patience.

“But you had those visions,” I said.

“I think a demon would be able to send visions to cover a lie. It should be obvious by now that I’m no exorcist.”

“We’re back to that? I could claim my innocence until the guests have all gone home, but it’s like you said—it isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

The minister barked a laugh and said, “You got that right.”

I had an idea. An exciting one, actually.

“Listen, do you want my story? All of it?”

“I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t. What priest wouldn’t?”

“Then give me your name and email address. I’ll type it up and send it to you.”

“I am
not
telling you my name,” he said, with a tone of finality. “Not from my own lips—you may have seen the Exorcist, but I used to play Dungeons and Dragons.”

“You’re kidding—you were a priest.”

“Everyone played Dungeons and Dragons back then.”

“Well how about email?” I said. “Any rules against that?”

The minister got a pen from his coat pocket and wrote his email address on a business card he fished from his wallet, then handed it to me. A quick glance showed it was for a home improvement company.

“I give this one to any store that I think might sell it to people. I can’t stand spam.”

I memorized the address on the back, then folded it away.

“Ok,” I said. “Here’s how we’ll work it.”

I explained that when I got into my next body I’d send him a note letting him know what I was up to and when I thought I could get my story to him. It all depended on how much time I’d have on future “possessions.” Though technically accurate, I hated the word. I only picked it because calling them “rides” might give him the idea I did this for my own amusement—in other words, it might give him the right impression.

I didn’t know how long it would take, but I figured I could mentally write my story in the Great Wherever, since time usually passed longer there. Afterword, I’d spill it from memory into an email.

I couldn’t wait. The whole thing struck me as amazing. I had finally met someone I could be completely honest with.

“We’re not done yet,” the minister said, stabbing me with that baleful look of his. “What are your intentions with Erika? She thinks she’s marrying Nathan, not you. This is her wedding night, but I don’t want you putting your hands on her.”

“I’m way ahead of you on that one,” I said. Obviously, whatever transferred when we touched hadn’t included the incident in the mall parking lot. “She’s pregnant and I’m only here temporarily. I plan to act paranoid about having, uh… you know, until after the baby’s born.”

He raised an eyebrow at that.

“She’s a pretty girl—you think you can control yourself?”

For the first time with him I tried to lie, but failed.

“I’m going to try.”

The minister paused, considering.

“Fair enough. But what’s she going to do after you’re gone? What happens when it’s Nathan in that body and not you? Will he be you one minute and then suddenly himself again, displaced and confused?”

“I’ve never been able to figure that one out,” I said. “But maybe you can help?”

I gave him my best guess as to when I’d receive my final kick. During that window, he’d call Nate’s cell phone every day. If it was me, I’d give him a status report on how close I was to getting kicked out. But if the real Nate answered, the minister would drive over and explain as much as he could to him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “All right.”

The minister called my number to fix it into his call history. I saw his name pop up on the display—Anthony Hendricks. It was one of the names already in the phone. Not letting on that I knew his name, I ended the call and pocketed the phone. He must have known it’d be easy to get his name from Erika, or possibly Tim, but I didn’t need him thinking I was trying to trick it out of him. That would only reinforce his demon suspicions.

While the minister and I were talking, guests had been gathering in the kitchen, looking out at us and talking among themselves. Eventually, Tim tapped politely on the glass and stepped out. He looked from me to the minister and back, then threw me a look I’m sure had something to do with Disneyland and Teacup rides.

“Um, I hate to intrude,” Tim said, “but Erika’s wondering what’s taking so long. Is everything ok?”

The minister said, “Nathan and I were just having a chat. I always like to give a little sagely advice to the groom before he takes his vows.”