“Euthanasia!
What in the hell are you thinking Thomas, we don’t condone such behavior!”
Hennessy had all but yelled through the phone.
“But
nothing seems to help! We’ve tried several exorcisms, therapy, various rounds
of medication… while the young man is himself they seem to help, but when it
takes over they have no effect on it.”
“You
keep saying it, tell me what you mean by it,” Hennessy remembered demanding.
“We
only say it because we don’t think it has a gender,” Thomas had said over the
phone, his voice trembling slightly. “It can sound male or female all it likes
while within William, and often switches mid-sentence. Sometimes it speaks in
both.”
“Impossible…
and you say you’ve performed exorcisms on the man?” Hennessy had asked.
“Yes,
a total of five so far, one every year on All Hallows Eve.” Thomas had replied,
sounding more confident. “The exorcisms… they seem to cause the beast within
him great discomfort, but no actual pain or fear.”
“And
he shows all signs of possession?” Hennessy had to be sure before he made the
trip to Malone, to see this for himself.
To
contact an Exorcist.
“We
have to keep him bound in iron manacles, chained to the wall, because of his
strength. Those have to be regularly replaced as he, while possessed, performs
fits of rage where he tries to pull the chains free. He speaks in multiple
languages, some dead, and has even foretold the future on a few occasions.”
“And
he was accurate?” Hennessy had asked, startled from such a fact.
“He
predicted this conversation,” Thomas had replied.
The
line had fallen silent as both men had contemplated what was just said. “When…
when did he make this prediction. And what were his words?”
“He
writes them on the walls of his cell, using his own blood. One of the nuns who
cares for him said he’d written about the man with a spiritual name of France
in glass would reach me via a seat amongst the chess board, only to claim the
King as his savior, the Queen the mother, and the cross his own instrument of
torment.”
Hennessy
hadn’t known what to say to that. “He said I would use the cross as my own
instrument of torture?”
“That’s
what he wrote. During the day he’s fine, so long as we don’t provoke him. But
at night, the demon surfaces and takes over.”
“Tell
me of the exorcisms. Did you lead them yourself?” Hennessy had asked, having
gone to his filing cabinet to root out the file on this Parish.
“We
tried getting help from the Vatican, but were denied. Twice.”
“On
what grounds?” Hennessey had indeed found the formal letters requesting an
exorcist to come to their Parish, to cleanse a young man of an otherworldly
evil.
“Well…
the young man isn’t Catholic. He isn’t even Christian, truth be told. He just
came to us seeking aid and shelter, saying he’d done terrible things in his
possessed state, and didn’t know where he could turn to.”
“He’s
not a practicing Catholic?”
“He
reads scripture daily, and meditates on the morals and philosophies of the
church, but we have not been able to get him to take Communion or be baptized.
The thing within him surfaces every time we try and mocks us, making the
attempt a waste of time.”
“How
many times have you tried this?”
“Ten
times, every Easter Sunday and every Christmas. We believed at first that these
days would grant us an extra bit of sway over the demon.”
“And
they haven’t,” Hennessy had said, finishing the statement.
“No…
all they’ve done is brought the Beast within him out; the first time we tried
it we were in the middle of Mass, and he caused quite a stir. It took five men
to subdue him long enough for us to corral him back into his cell.”
“His
cell?”
“I
know, it sounds horrible, but it is for the best. He lives in the cellar, in a
modified storage room that acts as his home and sanctuary.”
“And
how does he feel about this?”
“He
feels perfectly fine with it all,” Thomas had sounded relieved about that. “He
likes that we are holding him, and that we are trying to cleanse him of this
spirit. He’s been very patient with us and very open to all of our suggestions.”
Hennessy had leaned back in his chair at that point, swiveling it around to stare
outside his window, down into the courtyard where the statue of St. Ignatius
stood, a small stone cistern surrounding him.
“Do
you believe he has committed a crime during his possession?” Hennessy had
finally asked, closing his eyes.
Thomas
had been silent on the other end, just for the briefest of moments. “We don’t
know. And the young man, William, doesn’t remember what happens to him while he’s
possessed.”
“So
he could have harmed people, innocent people, and now we would be harboring a
criminal?”
“I’ve
thought of that as well, oh so many times… but I can’t find it in my heart to
turn this boy loose to the police, not without ridding him of his ailment. Isn’t
that what we do as Priests, Bishop? Help those who are spiritually in danger?”
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