My Best Friend's Exorcism(51)

“That’s all I care about,” Abby said.

Gretchen slammed her locker shut and then rounded on Abby, hitching one strap of her bookbag over her shoulder. She was a few inches taller and Abby could see her nostrils flaring, her pupils dilating.

“If you cared, you would have helped,” she said. “Not just talked about me behind my back.”

“I tried to help,” she said. “You know I did.”

Gretchen blew out her bangs.

“Psh,” she said. “You didn’t do shit.” Then she was smiling, her mouth wide, eyes sparkling, and Abby’s heart leapt for a second because it was clearly a joke, and then Gretchen was saying over Abby’s shoulder, “Hey, y’all!” and she was hugging Margaret and Glee, and the three of them were heading off down the hall, shoulder to shoulder, framed in the bright afternoon sunlight spilling through the glass doors, leaving Abby back in the shadows by the lockers, wishing she could go with them, or stay where she was, or at least be comfortable with either choice.

Everyone was Gretchen’s buddy—everyone except Abby. Even Wallace Stoney had managed to forgive her. Mrs. Lang had recruited Wallace to drive Gretchen to school since he lived in Mt. Pleasant, too. One morning Abby saw them sitting in his truck ahead of her in traffic, waiting to make the light on Folly Road, Gretchen was talking and Wallace was laughing. When Wallace hung out with Gretchen and Margaret and Glee during fourth-

period break, he mostly talked to Gretchen.

Abby wondered what Margaret thought about that.





Abby sat across from Father Morgan in his office. His curtains were closed and it was cool and dark and he was telling Abby that Gretchen was completely normal.

“I wouldn’t take all the credit,” he said. “But I spoke with her

parents and it certainly seems to have helped get her back on track.”

“That’s the thing,” Abby said. “She’s not on track.”

Father Morgan smiled.

“You can’t judge a book by its cover,” he agreed. “But the cover does give you a pretty good indication of what’s inside. And I’d say Gretchen’s cover looks a heck of a lot better than it did.”

It had taken Abby a while to realize that there was one person who’d talk about Gretchen as much as she wanted: Father Morgan. He was way too involved in students’ lives, he thought he knew everything, and all you had to do was make an appointment.

Now, sitting there in Father Morgan’s office, she knew she’d made the right decision. White and brown nubby curtains were drawn over his only window, leaving the room dim and safe. The furniture was nice furniture from a house, not the harsh office furniture that filled the rest of the school. Instead of yellow-painted cinderblock walls, Father Morgan’s office was lined with bookshelves filled with titles like Understanding Your Teenager and Living a God-Focused Life. And he loved to talk.

“Gretchen is happy and social,” Father Morgan said. “She’s been an absolute joy in all our interactions and there is no shadow upon her as far as I can tell. You know what that says to me, Abby?”

He waited for an answer, so she finally fed him his line.

“No, sir.”

“You’re scared of losing your friend,” he said and then smiled.

Abby looked at her knee. She inhaled, shaking her head.

“When she was sick,” Abby said, “she told me that people could look fine on the outside but be evil inside. Like satanists.”

Or her parents.

Father Morgan’s smile disappeared, and he stood up and came around his desk. He pulled a chair closer to Abby.

“Abby,” Father Morgan said, “I know how it is to be a young person. There are all these reports of satanic cults everywhere, sacrificing babies. Geraldo Rivera’s doing a two-hour special on them next week. Of course you feel these things deeply, and they upset and influence you. But they’re not real.”

“Then what are they?” Abby asked.

“They’re . . .” Father Morgan waved one hand around in the air. “. . . metaphors. Ways of dealing with information and emotions. Adolescence is a complicated time, and some really bright people think that when the adult emerges, it’s like you’re being taken over by a different person. Almost like being possessed. Sometimes parents, or friends, get hurt when a loved one changes. They look around for something to blame. Music, movies, satanism.”

He leaned back and flashed a smile.

“So you think Gretchen is possessed?” Abby asked. “Like she has a demon inside of her?”

His smile flicked off.

“What?” he said. “No, it’s a metaphor. Abby, do you know the story of the Gadarene madman?”

“Is he a satanist?” Abby asked.

“In the Bible,” Father Morgan continued, “Jesus goes to Gerasa, and when he gets there a man approaches him who is possessed by demons. He’s been shunned and forced to live in the graveyard, which is as bad as it gets in Bible times. And when Jesus asks him what’s wrong, the man says he’s possessed by an unclean spirit. Jesus asks its name and it says, ‘My name is Legion.’ Does that sound familiar?”

Abby shrugged. Her family didn’t go to church, but she thought she’d heard something like that in a horror movie.