Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
“It’s going to be okay,” I murmur, securing the last leather strap around Cain’s neck. He’s fully restrained on the metal table, just like during his medical procedures.
“How do you know?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, even though it’s only the two of us in the room right now. “What if there really is a…a demon inside of me?”
I swallow back my own discomfort at the thought. It had to be a goddamn demon. “Then the priest will help you,” I say. After a glance at the door, I reach for him, but hesitate. If there is a demon inside of him, could my attraction to him be a part of its power? Have I been corrupted?
I shake the thought off and carefully smooth his hair off his forehead. “I won’t let you get hurt. I promise.”
“I’m not worried about getting hurt,” he says. “I’m worried about hurting him.” His eyes are wide, his lower lip trembling slightly. “A priest. If I hurt a priest, Willow…” He trails off, shaking his head, as if he doesn’t even have words for it.
“I won’t let that happen, either,” I promise. “And if there’s a way to stop your transformation, Sixteen, we have to try it.” My real meaning hangs in the air, unspoken: if there’s a way to save you…
The door opens before he can respond. Barnes enters first, followed by an older man in a classic black cassock. My eyes dart to the Bible in his hand, and I force down a surge of discomfort. This is about Cain, and I’ll do anything it takes to help him.
The priest stops just inside the doorway. He sways slightly on his feet, presses a hand to his eyes.
“Father Barrera?” Hunter asks, stopping at his side.
After a moment, the priest lowers his hand. “There is…a powerful dark energy in this place.”
I follow his gaze to Cain on the table. I was so busy looking at the priest that I didn’t realize he had gone completely stiff on the table, his hands clenched and his eyes screwed tightly shut.
“Hey.” I touch his arm.
A bead of sweat slides down his temple. He takes a shaky breath, and his eyes open, revealing severely dilated pupils. “I…don’t feel well.” His eyes dart to the priest and then quickly away, and he winces as if something pains him. It reminds me of his reaction to my cross.
The priest steps closer to the table. He reaches under his robe and pulls out a heavy silver chain with a bejeweled cross. The moment it emerges, Cain flinches as if struck.
“I feel sick,” he mutters. “I… I don’t…”
Even though I hate to see him like this, I feel a surge of hope. Something within him is reacting to the religious paraphernalia. If he’s responding like this, perhaps it means we’re on the right track.
The priest is watching Cain closely, a furrow between his brows and lines etched deeply in his face. “A strong response,” he murmurs. He shifts closer with the cross, and Cain flinches again.
He lets out a low, wordless sound of pain, and I hold out a hand to stop the priest. “Sixteen,” I murmur, leaning down over him. “I know it hurts, but you have to keep going.”
His eyes are glazed over, feverishly bright as they lock on my face. “Willow, it hurts.”
“I know.” I squeeze his arm. “But that might mean it’s working.”
He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and nods as much as he can manage with his neck strapped to the table.
I nod at the priest. His eyes are grave as he glances from me to Barnes. He can’t seem to bring himself to look directly at Cain, and every time his eyes go near the table, his grip on his crucifix tightens.
“I can already see why you called me,” Father Barrera says.
“And I believe you were right to do so.” His heavily lined face is furrowed as if in great concentration.
“The energy surrounding this young man, it is…” He shakes his head and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at his sweat-shiny forehead.
“Unlike anything I have ever felt before. Dark, malevolent…”
“So you believe there is a demon?” Barnes asks. His forehead, too, is beaded with sweat, and he’s blinking rapidly, like he’s trying to focus.
It doesn’t affect me as strongly, but I can feel it too.
The waves of pure stress radiating off Cain, infecting anyone close by.
I rest a hand on his shoulder, even though my fingers shake as I do it, every instinct warning me away.
I know it’s only his own anxieties spilling over rather than any ill intent.
“You’re okay,” I murmur. “It’ll be okay.”
He looks up at me, wide eyes locking with mine. I can feel the weight of Father Barrera’s gaze upon us. He still hasn’t answered Barnes’s question.
“I’d like a few minutes alone with the subject,” the priest says, but I have the uncomfortable sense that his eyes are lingering on me instead of Cain. Barnes nods, pointing a thumb toward the door. After squeezing Cain’s shoulder, I follow him outside.
I lean against the wall in the hallway, trying to ignore the way my heart races. I was the one who suggested this, but I feel queasy now that it’s about to occur. “Do you think he’ll be all right?”
“Which one are you asking about?” Barnes asks.
I drop my eyes instead of answering, chewing on my lower lip.
“I’ve already warned Father Barrera about the nature of X-16’s episodes.
He is convinced he will be able to withstand them.
” There’s doubt in Hunter’s voice, but he continues.
“And there’s no reason that anything we’re doing should hurt Sixteen.
It may be uncomfortable for him, but if your theory is correct, it will help him in the end. ”
I nod, but I can’t muster up a response.
The silence lingers for a few minutes that feel like an eternity, and then the door swings open again.
Father Barrera emerges, his expression stony, his hands clasped tightly over the leather cover of his Bible.
It’s hard for me to look at him too closely.
He reminds me too much of my—of him. The preacher.
Again, doubt surges through me. Should I have brought religion into this when I can’t trust it? There are far too many people out there who would twist belief into manipulation, too many who hide their monstrous natures behind a mask of piety.
But I wanted this. Barnes trusts this man. I have to have faith, even though that word always leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Father Barrera looks at us solemnly. “Given his responses to the holy text and symbol, I am inclined to believe that there is, indeed, a demonic influence within this young man.”
My stomach twists, swoops. Maybe I should feel triumphant, hopeful, but right now all I feel is fear.
“The influence is powerful,” he continues, as emotions war within me. “Its grip on him is tight. It has been seated within him for a very long time, I expect. The only way to extricate it would be an exorcism.”
I can’t bring myself to speak. I suggested as much to Barnes, but to hear it validated makes me suddenly uncertain.
Barnes nods. Calm, professional, as if we’re discussing an everyday work task instead of a fucking exorcism. “Then we’ll proceed.”
“Once we begin, the exorcism must be followed through to the end,” Father Barrera says.
“You may see and hear strange things. Concerning things. The subject may be in pain. He may speak to you and implore you to stop the ritual. The demon will do anything and everything within its power to stop the completion of the exorcism, but you cannot listen to it. The only way this can be successful is if we follow through to the end. Do you understand?”
I swallow. My stomach churns, half excitement and half dread, and a deeper uncertainty. It’s not instinctive for me to put my faith in a religious man. But what if it’s the only way to save Cain?
“I understand,” I say. “I’m ready to assist.”
“Willow is the most resistant to Sixteen’s episodes and the effects of his presence,” Barnes says, nodding at me. “In the event I’m incapacitated or forced to leave the room, she’ll take charge.”
I nod. “I can get the Father to safety and subdue Sixteen myself if necessary.”
“Good. Then…” Barnes turns to the priest again. “Whenever you’re ready, we can begin.”
There’s a new tension in the air as the three of us step into the room with Cain again. He’s prone on the table, his eyes squeezed tightly shut—except for the third on his forehead, which darts around the room before narrowing in on Father Barrera. Its gaze is hot and angry.
I take my place at the table. “I’m here,” I murmur, but Cain doesn’t respond. It’s difficult to look at him directly; I can’t stop the thoughts that keep running around my head. There’s a demon inside of him. A demon. Was I starting to care for a demon?
But I can’t let myself believe that. Even if there is a demon within him, I refuse to believe that our quiet moments and shared lunches were a lie.
I didn’t hold the hand of a demon to comfort him.
A demon doesn’t love cozy mysteries because he needs to know there’s a happy ending. That was all Cain.
I swallow hard and grab the leather-and-silicone gag we brought to use during the exorcism, holding it up to Cain’s face.
“Open,” I murmur. His lips part without hesitation, revealing lines of surprisingly sharp teeth, and I carefully press the gag into his mouth and secure the leather strap around the back of his head.
Barnes stands guard on the other end of the table, while Father Barrera stands perpendicular to Cain’s prone form.
The priest raises one papery-skinned hand and traces the sign of the cross over him.
A shudder runs through Sixteen’s body from head to toe, an almost violent shiver of revulsion.
The priest ignores it, turning to make the same sign over himself, and then Barnes, and then me.
I bite my cheek to will away any reaction of my own.
Next the priest takes out a vaguely familiar metal device from his pocket. He uses it to sprinkle holy water on himself, me, and Barnes before, lastly, flicking some toward Cain.