The exorcist considered Abby for a moment. Then he headed for the kitchen, shaking his head. “I’ll just do it myself,” he said. “Lonely are those who serve the Lord.”
Abby heard him clanging around, followed by the sound of the sink running. Then it was quiet. She crept back into the guest bedroom. It smelled like rancid piss and sour vomit. Gretchen had stopped shaking and her skin was grainy with goosebumps. Her breathing was shallow. Her face was raw and wet, her lips swollen and bruised, cracked and chapped from the vinegar. Salt was in her hair, and her eyes were swollen and pink. She raised a bound hand as much as she could and beckoned for Abby to come closer.
Abby knelt beside the mattress. Gretchen opened one bloodshot eye.
“Let him do it,” she whispered.
“He’s killing you,” Abby said.
Gretchen shook her head violently.
“It has to come out of me,” she said. “Cut it out, burn it out, drown it out. I can’t live like this.”
Abby took her hand. It was icy and stiff.
“I’ll talk to him,” she said. “We can do something else. I can’t keep hurting you.”
“Andras showed me what I did,” Gretchen said. “To you, to Margaret. To Glee. To Father Morgan. To Max . . .”
Her voice cracked on the last one.
“That wasn’t you,” Abby said.
“It was!” Gretchen said. “It was all me! Me and this—this thing inside of me. It has to come out. Before it destroys everything.”
Far off in the house, a teakettle whistled.
“I won’t let him hurt you,” Abby said. “We can still fix this.”
The door swung open and Abby turned to see Brother Lemon approaching the bed. In one hand was a steaming teakettle. In the other was the funnel.
That’s when Abby realized that no one was going to stop him. No parent, no teacher, no friend, no cop. There was no one here who could make him listen. It was the most terrifying feeling in the world. She had uncaged a monster that she couldn’t control.
“Ready for more?” Brother Lemon said, striding into the room. “We’re going to DEFCON 2. Know what this is?”
He raised the kettle over the bed, steam roiling out the spout, and Gretchen’s eyes widened with fear. Then she set her jaw.
“Do it,” she said. “Get it out of me . . .” Her voice dropped back into its hoarse rasp. “I dare you.”
“Get out of the way, Abby,” Brother Lemon said. “Feel the word of God, like a hammer of righteousness, blasting you out.”
“Stop!” Abby screamed. She stood up between Brother Lemon and Gretchen, arms spread to either side, shielding Gretchen from the exorcist. “You’ll kill her!”
“No!” Gretchen shrieked. “Do it!”
“I have to kill the demon,” Brother Lemon said, stepping forward.
Abby felt the heat from the kettle warming the left side of her face, starting to cook it. She grabbed at the funnel.
“Look at her,” she begged. “Look at what you’re doing.”
Brother Lemon held the funnel out of reach, hands shaking.
“The Enemy seeks to humiliate me,” he said. “The Enemy wants to make me small.”
“She’s just a girl,” Abby said, backing away from him. The bed caught the backs of her knees, forcing her to sit on Gretchen’s arm. “You can’t take this back!”
“I will mortify her flesh until she gives up the demon,” Brother Lemon shouted. “I’m not screwing up again!”
He was a wall of muscle squeezing Abby between himself and Gretchen, looming over her, blocking the light. He shoved Abby to one side and she slid off the bed, knees cracking against the floor. He forced the funnel between Gretchen’s teeth as she nodded feverishly.
“Yes! Yes! Yeth!” she moaned in ecstasy as the funnel entered her mouth.
Brother Lemon lifted the kettle and started to pour. Abby threw herself toward it, arms outstretched, feeling nothing at first but then her hands burned where they hit the kettle. Boiling water splattered the length of her arms, and Brother Lemon roared and yanked back. The water burned him, too, and he lost his grip and the kettle clanged to the ground, spinning into the corner, disgorging gouts of steaming water across the floor.
Behind her, Gretchen shrieked in disappointment as Brother Lemon drew himself to his full height. He grabbed Abby by the neck, his face contorted with rage. She was so terrified, she wasn’t scared anymore.
“When do you stop?” she shouted. “When she’s dead?”
Brother Lemon froze. He looked down at this girl, crying in front of him, arms livid from the boiling water; then he looked behind her at the other girl, tied to the bed, soaking wet, covered with salt and urine, lying in her own vomit. Weakly she turned her head from side to side, chanting, “Kill me, kill me, kill me, kill me . . .”
The light in the room changed. A film dropped from Brother Lemon’s eyes.
“I can’t see it anymore,” he said. “I can’t see the demon.”
He turned and left the room. Abby followed and found him in the living room, sitting in the big wicker chair, clutching his head.
“I saw the demon,” he said to his lap. “I swear I saw it.”
“We can fix this,” Abby said.
He looked up at her.
“What have I done?” he said. Tears ran down his face.
Abby didn’t know how to comfort him. He picked up his Bible and threw himself onto his knees, praying, pressing it to his lips. From the bedroom, Abby could hear Gretchen chanting over and over, “Kill me, kill me, kill me.”
Finally, Brother Lemon raised his eyes.
“I need to get my daddy,” he said. Then he repeated it, more sure of himself. “I need to go get my daddy.”
He got up and started hunting for his keys.
“Why?” Abby asked. “What’s he going to do?”
“This is just a trial,” Brother Lemon said, convincing himself. “It’s a test of our faith. I’m in over my head, but my daddy will know what to do. He deals with worse demons than this all the time. He’ll fix this. He’ll make it right.”
“You can’t leave me,” Abby said.
Brother Lemon snatched his keys off the coffee table and then turned to Abby. She didn’t like the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“I’m not leaving you,” Brother Lemon said. “I’m going to go get my daddy, and then I’ll come back and we’ll beat that thing. You wait. I’ll be right back. I promise.”
And then he was out the door, banging down the stairs underneath the house. She heard a car door slam, an engine spark, and she watched from the front window as he reversed into the street, put the van in drive, and took off.
It was late afternoon, and the world was already getting dark. The house was quiet. Abby walked into the guest bedroom to check on Gretchen. She was lying on the bed, completely still. Abby leaned over to check on her.
“Please . . .” Gretchen moaned. “Make it stop . . .”
“It’s going to be okay,” Abby said. “He’s getting someone who can help.”
“Make it stop . . . make it stop . . . make it stop . . .” Gretchen moaned.
Abby went to hug her and Gretchen suddenly burst out laughing.
“It’s so easy,” she said, smiling cruelly, and Abby felt a rock sinking slowly from her chest to her gut. “Did you think Gretchen was still here? She’s been gone for a long time, and you two stand there and pompously intone prayers to a God you don’t even believe in and—what? You expected my head to spin around? You have the imagination of children. I barely had to reveal one-tenth of my majesty to dispense with that poser. Some silly voices here, a push there, a nudge, a wiggle, and now it’s just you and me. As it was in the beginning, so it shall be in the end.”
Gretchen smiled up at Abby, humming a little tune.
“I think we’re alone now,” she sang softly, eyes locked on Abby’s. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone aroun-ound. I think we’re alone now, the beating of our hearts is the only sou-ound . . .”
I Would Die 4 U