My Best Friend's Exorcism(86)

It was the exorcism. All the prayers, all the rituals, all the rites, all written down, with directions. Abby took out the pages and looked at these useless prayers and incantations. She was going to jail, she knew she was going to jail, but Andras would keep going and going and going. There was no end to it.

“Do you know what I think, Abby?” Andras called. “I think it’s time that Dereck White got tired of the way those football players treat him. I think maybe it’s time he brought his gun to school. Can’t you see it? He’s walking down the hall, going from room to room, and for once no one can tell him to shut up. After you’re gone, I’m going to have so much fun.”

There was no more Margaret. No more Glee. No more Wallace Stoney. No more Father Morgan. Soon there would be no more Brother Lemon. When did it stop? How much misery did there have to be? Abby knew the suffering would be infinite. It would spread from person to person to person and go on and on until there was nothing else. Until everyone felt the way she did right now.

It had to stop. It didn’t matter what happened to her anymore: this had to stop.

Abby turned out the lights in the living room and checked all the doors to make sure they were locked. She got a glass of water and walked into the guest bedroom, carrying Brother Lemon’s Bible and instructions.

“Saint Michael the Archangel, defend me in battle,” Abby read off the sheet. “Be my protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, I humbly pray. Amen.”

The paper trembled in her hands, but she told herself it was because of the cold. Abby stood at the foot of the bed and her voice sounded too loud, too theatrical, too much like she was pretending. The overhead fixture made everything look cheap and shoddy.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,” she prayed. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done . . .”

“Seriously?” Andras asked, raising Gretchen’s head. “You’re seriously doing this?”

“. . . as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation . . .”

“It won’t work,” Andras said. “An exorcist has to be pure and honest, and that’s the one thing you’ve never been. You’re arrogant, Abby. You think you’re the only person who works hard, you think no one suffers but you . . .”

“. . . forever and ever. Amen,” Abby breathed deeply. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name . . .”

She repeated the Lord’s Prayer three times.

“Ask yourself, Abby,” Andras said, talking over her. “If you’re so wonderful, if you are truly this selfless giving tree, why are you only friends with rich girls? You used to be friends with Lanie Ott and Tradd Huger, but they’re not rich like me and Margaret and Glee. I bet you wouldn’t even talk to your parents if you didn’t have to live with them. They’ve done nothing but sacrifice for you and you’re humiliated by them. You think they’re trash.”

Abby’s hands were shaking harder now, and she raised her voice to drown out Andras.

“I command you, unclean spirit,” she said, her voice quavering. “Along with all your minions now attacking this servant of God, be gone.”

Andras laughed at her.

“Once more, by the power of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, I command you to depart this servant of God.”

“You know, Abby,” Andras said in Gretchen’s voice, “this is one of those things that’s broken, and it’s not getting fixed. Some mistakes are forever, and you committed one. Welcome to the rest of your long, lonely life.”

They went on this way for an hour. After a while, Abby couldn’t remember how long she’d been in the room; Gretchen’s body was exhausted, her hair sweaty and matted, wrists and ankles chafed raw by the sheets, the mattress cold and wet.

Abby’s voice was shot, but she took another sip of water and kept reading. Her glass was almost empty, but she knew she couldn’t leave this room.

“Depart, transgressor,” Abby read. “Depart, seducer, full of lies and cunning, foe of virtue, persecutor of the innocent. Give way, you monster, give way to Christ, in whom you found none of your works!”

Andras blew an exhausted raspberry.

“The power of Christ compels you, demon,” Abby said. “Leave this servant of God.”

Andras let out a fake snore.

“I cast you out,” Abby droned. “I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every satanic power of the enemy, every specter from hell, and all your fell companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Begone and stay far from this child of God.”

Andras stared up at the ceiling with dead eyes. Abby stopped, and the silence rushed in and crushed her. She was so tired. This was so stupid.

“I cast . . .” Abby began, but her throat was so dry it croaked.

She looked over at the dresser and her heart leapt when she realized that her glass was still half full. She took a long gulp. It tasted sweet. Then she gagged and spat the water onto the floor. The liquid in her glass was cloudy and yellow and it reeked of sulfur. She was drinking urine. Tiny multilegged bugs swam in it, paddling toward the surface. Abby let the glass drop and it bounced and rolled, showering her pants with warm pee.

“Who said there were rules here?” Andras laughed from the bed. “What made you think I would be bound by your expectations?”