CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I had been drifting in and out of sleep when the door creaked open, a faint yellow glow following Joe inside the room.
He was dressed in a long priestly gown, white robes fluttering behind him as he clutched the gold crucifix hanging from his neck.
He raised it to his lips and kissed it, slowly, eyelids fluttered shut as though in prayer.
A small Bible was tucked under his arm, several pages notably absent, no doubt torn out so as not to contradict his teachings.
“You look ridiculous,” I said in greeting. Nathaniel had allocated me the role of arrogant demon—a role I played easily since Joe really did look pathetic. "For someone who spits on Catholicism, you do resemble Father Andrej a lot with your costume."
"It is not a costume," Nathaniel defended him, playing the role of devoted believer, "he is a messenger of God. A soldier."
“Not a very good one,” I mumbled.
“What would you know, demon?” Nathaniel hissed.
"I thought you said there was no demon," Joe said, glancing in between us, a mixture of amusement and confusion fighting for dominance on his old, wrinkled face.
"That was before I saw it inside him," Nathaniel spat, lips curled in disgust. "I didn't want to believe it. But…it's why I brought him here. I sensed…something evil. I want the demon gone."
Joe arched an eyebrow.
"You can do it, can't you?" Nathaniel asked. "He mentioned you tried before…when he was a boy. Do you think…you can banish him for good this time?"
I laughed—a low, guttural sound, foreign to my own ears. "Too weak," I said, shaking my head. "Too weak to succeed."
"I am much stronger than I was ten years ago," Joe told Nathaniel, taking the bait.
"I bet the Devil is stronger too," Nathaniel said.
Joe's lips spread into a confident smile. "No one is stronger than God."
"You'll help him, then?" Hope softened Nathaniel's narrowed eyes and un-furrowed his brows. If he were a stranger, I would have believed he really was trying to save me. "I just want my friend back."
"I fear your friend has always been the Devil," Joe sighed, one hand resting on Nathaniel's shoulder. "Once the Devil is gone…Augustus will be a mere stranger."
A raging fire ignited within my soul. It burned through me, heat flaming my cheeks as I thrashed against my chains. "Get your hands off him!"
Joe shot me a look—a blend of boredom and annoyance—as he pulled away from Nathaniel and sauntered toward the door. I glowered at him, our eyes locking in a silent standoff.
"I will return at midnight for the exorcism," he said. "Say your prayers. You will need them."
***
The plan was simple. At midnight, Joe would return to perform the exorcism. Whether he came alone or with his loyal followers, Nathaniel and I would play along until we had an opportunity to flee. And in that time, I just had to ignore the Devil snarling in the mirrors all around me.
"During the exorcism, you should act like…the Devil is resisting," Nathaniel said, pacing back and forth. "Don't speak, though. Maybe just…wrestle with your chains? Groan?"
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Just long enough to be convincing."
“Do you really think he’d fall for it?”
Nathaniel scratched the back of his neck. “He’s delusional, isn’t he? He’ll see whatever he wants to see.”
“I guess.”
“And once you’re no longer possessed by the Devil, he’ll unchain you. That’s when we flee.”
“What if he’s not alone? His followers could overpower us.”
“If he’s not alone, we’ll have to keep up appearances a little longer,” Nathaniel sighed. “You’ll need to act…I don’t know…upset and scared and confused. Once you’re deemed no longer a threat, we should be able to just…leave.”
“Or they’ll try and recruit us,” I mumbled.
“We’ll adapt,” Nathaniel assured me. “We’ll get out of here, I promise.”
Food was delivered to us in two white bowls atop a plastic tray, a single jug of water beside it. The scent of herbs and simmering meat swallowed the damp rot that clung to the mirrored walls, my stomach grumbling with anticipation.
A dark-haired woman hovered in the doorway, her bare foot tapping against the floor as her grey eyes settled on Nathaniel.
I recognised her from a photo posted on the God’s Soldiers social media page, but the shift in her appearance was unnerving.
Where there had once been colour in her cheeks, there was now only grey, as though she had been snatched right out of a black and white film.
Her hair, which had been long and healthy, was now wild and untamed, patches of baldness littering her scalp.
She’d grown thin, her dress sliding off her shoulders with every exhale. What was Joe doing to these people?
“Thank you,” Nathaniel broke the silence as he crouched down to lift a bowl.
The woman said nothing as he carried it toward me, her fingers fiddling with the grey material of her creased dress, foot still tapping rhythmically against the damp floor.
I pinched the spoon beneath my trembling fingers, twirling the yellow soup around mindlessly while I waited for Nathaniel to retrieve his own bowl.
Just as I raised the spoon to my lips, the woman cleared her throat, loudly, and I raised my eyes to look at her.
A stern expression darkened her features as she pressed her hands together in prayer.
“Oh,” Nathaniel breathed out, lowering his bowl to the floor.
I hesitated before doing the same.
“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,” the woman began, eyelids fluttering shut as she bowed her head.
“Heavenly Father, we thank you for the food we are about to eat, for the hands that prepared it, and for your abundant provision. Bless this meal, nourish our bodies, and cleanse our souls. Amen.”
“Amen,” Nathaniel said.
“Amen,” I forced out.
She nodded to our bowls, permitting us to eat.
I took small, hesitant sips while Nathaniel devoured his like a man starved for days instead of mere hours. The woman remained by the entrance, watching us.
“What’s your name?” Nathaniel asked once he’d finished his soup and returned his bowl onto the tray.
“You may call me Agatha,” the woman replied, lifting her chin.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Agatha,” Nathaniel said. “How long have you been with the God’s Soldiers Church?”
“Three and a half years,” she answered.
“That’s a long time,” Nathaniel hummed. “Is your family here with you?”
Her eye twitched at the word ‘family’, the tapping growing louder as she shook her head. “My family are non-believers. They are not welcome here.”
“I see,” Nathaniel said, softening his tone, “I am sorry to hear that.”
Agatha shook her head and pinned her gaze on me. I wasn’t sure why until she asked, “Have you almost finished your meal?”
I opened my mouth to respond when Nathaniel’s next question cut me off, “Do you know Mary Saint?”
The sound of my mother’s name on Nathaniel’s tongue caught me completely off guard. I dropped my spoon, the splash of water as it sank to the bottom echoing along the walls as I glanced in between my boyfriend and the woman sending daggers in his direction.
“Mary Saint?” she repeated.
“Yes,” Nathaniel nodded, “do you know her?”
“I’ve never heard of her,” she said, stepping forward to retrieve my spoon whilst snatching the remainder of my soup from my hands.
“I don’t think he’s finished—” Nathaniel started, only to fall silent when Agatha fled the room, leaving only the jug of water behind as the door slammed shut.
“It wasn’t that good anyway,” I mumbled.
Nathaniel sighed. “Do you think she’s lying? About not knowing your mother?”
“I don’t know. What reason would she have to lie?”
“She’s only been with the Church for three years,” Nathaniel thought aloud, “your mother could have left before then. We need to speak with someone who has been here longer.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” I asked. “It’s not like we can just go around interviewing people.”
“Well, no, but—”
“Look,” I cut him off, “it doesn’t matter anymore. We just need to get out of here. Let’s just focus on the plan, alright?”
Nathaniel released a long, reluctant sigh. “Alright, yeah. Focus on the plan.”
***
Midnight entered the mirrored room like spilled ink, its shadow carrying the nauseating scent of charred flesh and sulphur. Joe stood before me, priestly attire abandoned and replaced with a long black robe, a frayed rope tied around his middle.
Nathaniel stiffened beside me, his lips parting in silent protest as Joe raised a wooden crucifix in my direction, the end sharpened to a stake.
I reached for the Devil in the dark abyss, seeking his comfort in the face of our common enemy, but it was my own panicked voice repeating run, run, run.
“Carrington,” Joe started, his voice low and reverent, “help me light the candles, will you?”
I flinched at the memory of the flames inside the House on North Lane, the smoke’s suffocating grasp stealing my every breath.
Nathaniel obeyed, head bowed. He played the role of blind follower so well, he almost fooled me. Could I trust him? He was probably scared, terrified. If it came down to me or survival, what would he choose?
Once the candles lined every corner of the square room, their flames dancing menacingly in the mirror, I closed my eyes, calling for the Devil. The Devil, who feared no one but God, feared the man standing in front of me, as though Joe really was a vessel of the Lord.
“Pray with me,” Joe said, reaching inside his robe for a crystal blue rosary he handed to Nathaniel. “Don’t stop no matter what happens.”
Nathaniel nodded, clasping the rosary in between his hands as though it were a life raft keeping him from drifting out to sea.
Their voices echoed in unison, their prayer bouncing off the mirrored walls, growing louder and louder as candlelight painted distorted shadows on their reflections, faces warping into their own Devils.