Exorcized (Episode Five: The Nightshade Cases) Read online

  “Gage,” Kinsey said. “The voices can’t hurt you now. We know the truth. Who killed Father Harry?”

  The young man didn’t speak, just pointed with his knife. While Curtis blubbered and nodded.

  “And my parents,” he whispered into the darkness.

  Gerri hated she had it all wrong. “Gage saved you?” Of course he did. From the demon.

  Jesus. Same military timing, but outside the group. “Were you jealous of them, Sommers? Was that it? They had their little unit club and didn’t invite you to be part of it?”

  The custodian twitched. “None of your business,” he said.

  “Show me your wrist then,” Gerri said. “Prove to me you don’t have the same tattoo.”

  He barked a laugh. “I wasn’t allowed,” he said. “They made sure of that.”

  Which meant he couldn’t be the one she was looking for. Or could he? “Didn’t stop you, though, did it? You went ahead and got the tat anyway. To prove to them they couldn’t keep you out.”

  Guilty. Her gut snarled. Exactly at the same time he did.

  “Fuck you,” he said, and Gerri knew the truth. He’d set up the priest, likely killed him to protect his secret, pinned it on Father Harry—because who wouldn’t believe a priest had molested those boys? But it wasn’t Father Harry, or Gage. Or even Gordon Truman.

  Teddy Sommers was the demon all along.

  She drew a breath and prepared to fire.

  ***

  INT. – ST. MARY’S UNDERCROFT – AFTERNOON

  He beat her to it, shot ringing out in the dark. Gerri held her position while Kinsey gasped behind her, the bullet going wide. Lucky, damned fucking lucky the man was a terrible shot or his gun misfired after all these years.

  She wouldn’t give him a second chance.

  But, even as Gerri’s finger was squeezing the trigger, Gage thrust Curtis from his grip and threw himself forward, into Sommers.

  Gerri ran without thinking, hurtling herself at the pair, even as the custodian’s weapon discharged for the second time. The two were down in a heap, hitting the ground with a thud and two matching exhales of air. She circled them, weapon ready, but the moment Gage rolled free, the familiar stench of blood told Gerri everything she needed to know.

  Cici hurried forward as Gerri freed the .45 Browning from the custodian’s hand, kicking it aside out of his way. Not that it mattered. The hunting knife Gage previously held was sheathed to the hilt in the man’s abdomen. Blood gushed out around the blade, enough he had to have hit something vital.

  Cici cradled Gage in her arms, his chest a growing stain of crimson as the bullet he’d taken leaked his life away. Kinsey held close the still weeping Curtis Truman. Gage smiled up at the therapist with the face of an angel and Gerri gasped softly to herself. His pain was gone, the tortured soul within no longer. For the first time in her entire life—in her career—she witnessed the peace and joy of the embrace of death for one who couldn’t wait to see what came next.

  “They’re quiet,” he whispered to Cici who wept over him, her tears landing with soft splashes on his cheeks. “The voices are finally quiet.” He turned his head, met Father Dante’s eyes. “Please, ask the father to forgive me.” Dante nodded, crouching, whispering as he made the sign of the cross over Gage’s face as the young man sighed slowly, carefully, into the gloom, his eye glazing as his soul moved on.

  Gerri felt the back of her throat burn, emotions surging through her. She shook them off as the door burst open and Ray came running, Jackson beside her, three unis with him. The brunette fell to her feet next to Cici, did a quick check of Gage, before turning to Sommers. Unlike the young man he’d killed, the custodian’s terror made Gerri hope very much he’d be going to an unimaginable Hell where he would suffer for all eternity.

  Ray looked up as Sommers twitched at her touch. She shook her head, tense and tight. “Punctured the liver,” she said in a grim tone. “He’ll be gone soon.”

  The custodian grasped at Ray’s hand. “Please,” he said, tears trickling out of the corners of his eyes.

  Gerri crouched to grin down at him. “Is that what the kids said to you, you sick fuck?” She didn’t touch him, harm him in any way as his face paled, his hands flapping on his chest.

  Guilty, her gut screeched.

  “Teddy?” Father Dante’s face twisted in grief. “Did you hurt those boys? Did you kill Father Harry?”

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Sommers’s desperation sat clear on his face. He believed, then, did he? That Father Dante could absolve him before he died?

  She gestured at the priest to go ahead despite his obvious reluctance.

  “Proceed, my son,” Dante said.

  “I couldn’t resist their sweetness.” The custodian sobbed. “For years I tried, I tried so hard. Switched to whores, just to keep my hands off the boys. Harry helped me, when we were in the army. And I thought I had it beat. But his friends, they refused to let me in. He told them about me beating the sluts, he betrayed me.” Hate and fear and something Gerri couldn’t identify crossed his face. Delusional, maybe as much as poor, dead Gage. “When I came to him for a job, he helped me. But, I could tell the way the Bishop watched me, how the other priests watched me, Harry did it again. Turned them against me.” Sommers panted out his last few breaths. “I couldn’t resist them anymore, don’t you understand? This was the perfect chance, the perfect place. But he found out, he came to me and said he was going to turn me in to the police.” The custodian’s face went cold, quiet. “He said he forgave me my sins.”

  “So you tracked him to the Richards’s house,” Gerri said, “and you killed him. And made sure all the evidence would lead to Gage.”

  “Easy.” He whispered, almost through. “Just planted the saw and the mask on him and let him do the rest. Because he knew, too. But would never tell on me, no he wouldn’t.” Sommers smiled up at her. “He was my first.”

  Cici cried out, but Dante was faster, holding her back as she clawed at the custodian. Gerri had what she needed, saw how little time he had left. But wanted more. She gestured to Jackson who’d recovered the mask. Her partner handed it to her while Gerri held it up over his face, her hand inside to hold it open.

  “The demon is finally coming for you,” she said with false cheer. “Say hi for me.”

  “Father!” Sommers gasped at Dante.

  “There is no forgiveness for your sins,” the priest said, turning his back.

  Gerri had never felt such satisfaction as the moment the lights went out of the custodian’s eyes, believing his soul was forfeit.

  She really needed to see a therapist. Though, her shrink appeared to be about as happy with the outcome as she was. So, maybe not.

  ***

  INT. – ST. MARY’S UNDERCROFT – AFTERNOON

  Gerri toed the hiding place behind the furnace where Sommers kept the masks and his stash of drugs. Binks had already taken the vials away, but she had no doubt they’d come back as GHB or some other version of a date rape drug, dosed down for children.

  She still felt sick. He’d had the run of the church, easy access to the kids while they worked around the cathedral. And though part of her wanted to blame Father Harry for not keeping a closer eye on them, she understood. He wanted them to feel empowered, confident, able to work on their own. And, had it not been for Sommers, he would have succeeded.

  She knelt, gloved hands lifting the black book from the box the custodian used as a bench. She didn’t know the language, but could guess, especially from the inscription.

  Gage,

  Father loves you and always will. Take strength from the language of the Lord.

  Harry.

  Something stirred in her gut, a whisper of understanding. When she stood, the book in her hands, turning at the sound of someone joining her, she wasn’t surprised to find it was the bishop.

  He’d been patched up, but refused further care while the police and CSI team combed their way through his domain. Gri
ef etched his face, bowed his shoulders, but he seemed at peace in a way, smiling as he gestured to the book.

  “You’ve deduced, Detective,” he said, “the true meaning of the inscription?”

  Gerri shrugged. “I think so,” she said. “Father Harry…”

  “Was Gage’s biological father as well as his mentor.” Bishop Harrow nodded. “Harry confided in me years ago, that he’d fathered an illegitimate son, long before he joined the priesthood. It happens, far more often than you might imagine.” Gerri held still, let him go on. “Gage tracked him down, his mother dead from a drug overdose, I believe, and he just beginning his struggle with schizophrenia. Father Harry had a huge heart, Detective. And I couldn’t say no to my finest priest and my closest friend.”

  “Did you know, Bishop Harrow?” Gerri had to ask. “Did you know about the attacks and do nothing?”

  “I swear to you, and to God,” he said, “and you can assume what you like which means more to me, I had no idea what was going on. Had I, this would have stopped immediately and you would have been called.”

  She believed him, believed in the goodness in his heart. And released the last of her anger toward the church.

  “However,” he said, “I can only imagine Harry’s fury when he found out. He had a terrible temper, a layover from his military days. Especially to find out an old friend betrayed the children in his care.” The Bishop turned away. “If you would, bury the book with Gage so he has a part of his father with him.”

  Gerri let him go, the book clutched in one gloved hand. Binks approached, looked at it. Gerri let him have it, but repeated the request.

  “I’ll take care of it personally,” he said, with great respect.

  Cici stood with Ray, head down, shoulders shaking. Gerri approached, hating to interrupt. But, when her therapist looked up and met Gerri’s eyes, it was with a sad yet welcoming smile.

  “Thank you,” she said, grasping Gerri’s wrist. “You’re very good at your job, Detective.”

  “That mean I get a pass on therapy, Doc?” She winked while Cici laughed, short but real.

  “I’ll see you at your next appointment.” She left while Ray watched her go with a hurt expression on her face.

  “Everything okay?” Gerri prodded the brunette who shrugged it off and gestured to the body on the gurney waiting for the paramedics to come back.

  “That tattoo you were looking for.” She pulled down the zipper of the bag, showed Gerri Sommers’s wrist under the faded green cloth of his work shirt. “At first, I thought he really didn’t have one. But, look.” Ray peeled back a flap of skin with the edge of her fingernail. “Clever, right? Just a theatrical trick people use to cover their ink.”

  Gerri shook her head. “Very clever,” she said. “He purposely set up Father Schaefer.”

  Ray sighed, zipping the bag back up. “Looks that way.”

  “We have a shitty job sometimes, Ray.” Gerri exhaled heavily.

  “But, at least the bastard is dead.” The brunette nodded to her and followed the two returning paramedics out of the furnace room.

  True that.

  “I need a favor.” Not that Ray wouldn’t tell her if she found the obvious. But Gerri needed to know. “Gage’s chest?” She left it hanging, a sinking feeling making her sick like the killings hadn’t. In fact, the smell of blood lingered, driving her craving for a juicy burger. But the thought the young schizophrenic had the same burn scars, the six symbols Curtis Alexander and Ian Moore wore, was driving her crazy.

  Ray nodded. “I already checked,” she said in a voice that was near a whisper. “Nothing.”

  Gerri didn’t know why that fact made her feel equally better and worse. Maybe because had Gage worn the symbols, she could have found someone to blame for his madness, not some random short-straw of fate he’d been handed.

  “Meyers.” Gerri turned, found Jackson glowering at her, Kinsey in the background with the Social Services woman who’d come to collect Curtis. Kinsey shot her a warning look as Jackson stomped to a halt in her face.

  “Pierce.” Gerri gave him her best cold expression. “Late to the party, as usual.”

  He ignored the jibe. “What is she,” he jabbed a finger toward Kinsey without looking at her, “doing here?” The same digit jammed downward toward his feet.

  “Concerned citizen.” Kinsey spoke up before Gerri could, a surreptitious wink passing between them. “I was here visiting Father Dante and heard the commotion. I certainly would never go against the rules of the Silver City police department, but when I heard the young man speaking Aramaic, I couldn’t stay quiet.” She blinked with perfect innocence up at Jackson who glared in return. “Or would you have preferred I did so, Detective, and let the real killer get away with it?”

  Jackson didn’t let up. “I’m watching you, Meyers,” he said.

  “Oh, really.” Gerri rolled her eyes at him, smirked his own nasty look back at his face. “Then, you’ll have a great view in about five seconds.” She flipped him the bird before turning and walking away, hoping he liked the shot of her ass.

  Still, as she climbed up out of the bowels of the cathedral and into the humid Silver City night, Gerri knew he was right. She either had to find a way to cut Kinsey loose of Simone Paris, or one of these days, she’d have to track down a new anthropologist to help her with weird cases.

  ***

  INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE – NIGHT

  Kinsey closed her office door, ignoring the fact it was well past midnight, heart heaving and aching as she sank into her chair and slumped forward, unable to think or act past that simple collapse.

  What a hell of a night. The poor boys who Sommers had hurt, not to mention Gage and his loss, all weighed on her as though she could have done more to help. She considered with vague interest a cup of coffee might go a long way to help her out of her funk, but before she could muster the energy even to do that small task, someone knocked on her office door.

  Kinsey’s surprise gave her the boost of impetuous required to get up and answer it. To her surprise, Father Dante stood on the other side, looking about as ragged and broken up as she was. She stepped to the left, allowing him to enter, before gesturing to the one other chair in the room that wasn’t full of books and files.

  He didn’t sit, however, standing there in the middle of the room with his shoulders bowed, his young face twisted in self-recrimination.

  “I never told Bishop Harrow about Betsy’s accusation.” It sounded like his own version of confession, one he’d shared with her already, but Kinsey wasn’t sure she was the best person to be hearing it. He went on before she could stop him, repeating himself as though this were his own personal punishment he had to share. “I told Father Harry, instead.” Dante looked up, meeting her eyes, his full of tears. “Why didn’t I tell the Bishop?”

  Kinsey stepped forward, hugging the priest gently as he wept on her shoulder. “This wasn’t your fault,” she said, finally guiding him to the chair and sitting him down. “The only person to blame for what happened is dead.”

  Dante nodded, heavy and slow. “And I can’t reconcile my joy he’s gone,” he said, “with the forgiveness I should feel.” He sighed. “I fear I’m not cut out to be a priest, after all.”

  Kinsey didn’t know what to say about that. Nor did he seem to expect a response. Instead, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small, red-bound leather book which he cradled in his hands while he talked.

  “The call came this morning,” he said. “I’m to go to the Vatican tomorrow, to complete my training to become the new exorcist for California.”

  “Congratulations.” Kinsey knew she sounded grim.

  Dante bobbed a nod. “If I go.” He slipped his fingers over the book. The surface looked dented, faded in places, very old. Not ancient, but at least a hundred years of handling created those creases. “Before I leave, one way or the other, I had to give you this.” He met her eyes, his earnest and now afraid. “I knew I’d seen thos
e symbols you showed me before. But I couldn’t remember where. Until I started going through Father Harry’s things, in preparation for my departure.” He finally offered her the slim volume, standing as she took it from his shaking hands. “I pray I’ve done the right thing. But, I’m so deep in my own doubt right now, I can’t trust my feelings or my faith.”

  Kinsey looked down at the plain cover, unmarked but by time. “What is it?”

  Dante was already at the door, halfway into the hall when he paused to respond. “Answers to questions,” he said. And left, closing it softly behind him.

  Kinsey sank into the chair he’d vacated, her curiosity burning away all of the hurt and apathy that first brought her into the room. The moment she opened the book and gazed on the first page, her heart sped up, her blood pounding in her ears.

  Answers. To questions.

  He wasn’t kidding. Symbols, all the ones she’d seen already, and more. So many more. This was an exorcism guide book, created by the church. To identify those possessed by demons. And the kinds of demons that could take hold.

  Lists and lists of them. But not real demons, Kinsey knew. Because she’d seen some of these names before.

  Hugging it to her, thanking Dante with a whispered breath of gratitude, Kinsey went for the coffee pot. It was going to be a long night.

  ***

  INT. – RAY’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

  Ray answered the knock on her door with her heart in her throat. It was so hard to be with her lover in front of everyone and not show how she felt.