12. Evelyn
CHAPTER TWELVE
EVELYN
I sat in Father Hudson’s office, my hands trembling as I clutched the small silver ring. Tears streamed down my face. “I don’t know what to do.” I sobbed. I wiped away the tears, but they kept running down my face. “I’m consumed by wrath, gluttony, lust. Envy and pride and anger. I’ve succumbed to thievery and sloth in my duties. What’s happening to me, Father?”
Without saying anything, he nudged a box of tissues closer to me. I grabbed one to have something more to do with my hands.
My whole body shook as a wave of intense sensation pulsed between my legs, just like what happened earlier in the street. Was this the sin of lust manifesting in my very flesh? What happened in the street—it had to have been an orgasm. I’d never had one before, but what else could it have been? I’d never experienced anything that felt that good.
“Am I going insane? These carnal urges, all the intrusive thoughts...what’s happening to me?” I cried out in anguish.
With a shaking hand, I placed the ring on Father Hudson’s desk. “I don’t understand, Father. Why am I suddenly wracked by these dark impulses? I know I’m not perfect but I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”
A chilling thought crept into my mind. Could there be an evil force at work, a demonic presence tempting me astray?
No, surely not. Demons were spiritual beings, not living creatures that could manipulate me in the flesh. They could twist a mind and soul, but they couldn’t give me an orgasm. Could they?
“My child, we all face trials and temptations,” Father Hudson said gently. “Even the most devout among us have our moments of weakness.”
But I shook my head vehemently, unconvinced. “Please, Father, I beg of you. Bless me, pray with me so that I may resist these sinful urges.”
“Of course.” Father Hudson pulled his rosary from his pocket, reverently bringing the crucifix to his lips.
I stared at the symbol of our Lord, hope blossoming in me. “Father, please, show me I’m not unclean. The crucifix would show if I’m being influenced by the unholy. Would you touch my forehead with it?”
Father Hudson gazed at me, then said quietly, “Of course, Sister, but I’m also going to set up an appointment for you with Sister Mary’s therapy practice. You’re having a hard time, and I think she can help you. Come close, my child.”
Leaning forward, desperate for his help, for healing. A soothing balm that would calm my soul. He reached out and pressed the sacred symbol to my forehead as I squeezed my eyes shut in hopeful prayer.
As soon as the crucifix touched my skin, a searing pain engulfed my brow, and I screamed, yanking my head away. At the same moment, an intense pressure swelled within my most intimate area, ripples of unwanted pleasure radiating outward. It felt like something was moving inside me, stroking and probing, sliding in and out of my vagina.
Gasping in both pain and pleasure, I writhed on the chair, feeling like the same bursting ecstasy I’d felt when walking was going to happen again. Father Hudson sat back, staring at me in shocked horror, the crucifix having fallen from his hand, his eyes wide in fear and uncertainty.
Standing, I hurried over to the small mirror on Father Hudson’s wall. To my horror, angry red welts had appeared where the crucifix had touched my skin, as if the metal itself had burned me. Like it had been heated red hot and pressed into my flesh. I wailed, doubling over as my mind and body betrayed me. The room spun sickeningly and I gasped for air, clutching at my heaving chest.
Father Hudson leapt to his feet, eyes wide with shock at the blistering cross-shaped mark on my forehead. “Dear Lord,” he exclaimed, face ashen. “Stay here Evelyn. I’ll fetch the medical kit.”
He dashed out of the office, leaving me rocking back and forth, consumed by anguish, astonishment, and unwanted arousal. Clawing at my groin with one hand, I used the other to frantically make the sign of the cross again and again.
“I’m possessed,” I sobbed brokenly, the terrible realization crashing over me. “Demons have taken hold of me, defiling my body and spirit. Heaven help me, I’m possessed .”
Hysteria rose like bile in my throat as I awaited Father Hudson’s return, silently mouthing prayers that did nothing to quell the infernal sensations wracking my cursed form. Sweat drenched my clothes as I shivered violently, feeling unholy forces ravaging me from within.
I clutched at his vestments, allowing my full terror to come out as I screamed into his face. “ Cast them out! Please, cast them out!”
Father Hudson hurried back into the office, a white metal box clutched in his hands. Kneeling beside me, he hastily popped open the lid and rummaged inside.
“Here, this should help soothe the burn,” he said, his voice somehow calm even though he looked shaken to his core. He unscrewed a jar of clear ointment. Scooping out a generous dollop, he reached toward my marred forehead.
I flinched away instinctively, seized by an irrational fear that his touch would somehow make things worse. “No, please,” I said, “you don’t understand. It’s not just a burn, it’s a sign. I’m possessed by demons, I must be!”
Father Hudson paused, his hand hovering uncertainly. His brow furrowed with concern and he slowly shook his head. “Sister Evelyn, listen to me. You’re not possessed. The stress and shock are getting to you, that’s all.”
He carefully dabbed the cool cream onto my inflamed skin, his fingers gentle as they smoothed it over the blistered cross. I shuddered at the contact, torn between relief at the soothing cream and revulsion at being touched.
Father Hudson tried to catch my wild, darting gaze. “You need to talk to a professional about everything you’re going through.”
“A therapist?” I echoed hollowly, barely registering his words. The cool ointment tingled on my burning forehead, momentarily distracting from the bone-deep exhaustion that threatened to pull me under. Father Hudson moved with practiced ease to place a bandage, covering the injury.
“For now, why don’t you go lie down in your room and try to rest?” He reached out a hand and helped me to my feet.
In a daze, I allowed him to guide me out of the office and down the hall to my room. My legs were like rubber, threatening to give way at any moment. Collapsing onto my narrow bed, I curled into a tight ball, knees drawn up to my chest.
Father Hudson pulled the thin blanket over my trembling form, his face soft with sympathy and worry. “Rest now, child. We’ll…we’ll get through this, with God’s grace. Remember, He is always with you.”
Once he was gone, I sat up on the edge of my bed, my head throbbing under the bandage covering my burned forehead. The day’s events swirled in my mind: the incident with the crucifix, the pain, the dreams, the unwanted sensations of being touched intimately.
Could I really be possessed? The thought terrified me. I’d dismissed the existence of demons or angels as literal beings before, but now, doubt gnawed at the edges of my faith.
Glancing at my reflection in the small mirror across the room, the bandage was a glaring reminder of the strange and horrifying events of the past several hours. Exhaustion overtook me as I lay back on my pillow. The burn cream soothed my forehead somewhat, but the raw ache remained. Eventually, my racing thoughts blurred together, and I drifted off to sleep, physically and emotionally drained by the day.
After only a moment of soothing darkness, I found myself back in Father Hudson’s office, sitting across from him in the familiar, worn chair. The comforting smell of old books and lemon furniture polish filled the air. Father Hudson stood up.
“Evelyn,” he said, his tone soft and filled with admiration. “You are the best novice I’ve ever had the privilege to counsel.”
A rush of emotion washed over me at his words. Relief, pride, and something else, something warmer and deeper that I couldn’t quite define. I looked down, unsure how to respond. “Thank you, Father Hudson.”
“You’ve sacrificed so much,” he said reverently. “A brilliant legal career, a future of prestige, money, and power, all to serve God. That takes a strength very few people possess.”
His words wrapped around me like a warm fluffy blanket, filling me with a mix of pride and unease.
“I just want to do what’s right,” I said. “To…to serve the Lord.”
Father Hudson leaned forward slightly. “You inspire everyone around you, Evelyn. Even me.”
My heart stirred at his words, warmth blooming in my chest. I looked up and met his eyes, seeing an intensity there that I didn’t fully understand.
“Do you realize how rare you are?” he asked, almost intimately. “You’re brilliant. Devoted,” his voice dropped to almost a whisper, “beautiful.”
My face flushed at the unexpected compliment. “Beautiful?” The word was out of place coming from him, but it sent a shiver through me nonetheless.
The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, warmer. I shifted in my seat, acutely aware of how close he was sitting. His words, his expression, maybe even his entire demeanor, had changed. Less like guidance, more like something forbidden.
“There’s no judgment here,” he said. “No one to tell you what you should or shouldn’t feel.”
His hand cupped my cheek for a moment, and I closed my eyes, willing the dream to change, to end. Instead, the warmth of his touch spread, seeping into me, awakening feelings I’d known were wrong. I’d known they were wrong my whole life.
I swallowed. “Father Hudson, I don’t?—”
“Shh,” he said, almost hypnotically. “You’ve given so much to others. Don’t you ever allow yourself to receive? To let someone care for you the way you deserve?”
I shifted in my seat, unnerved by his words and the heat that lingered on my skin where his fingers had just been. “I don’t... I don’t know what you mean.”
“Even the strongest,” he said, and leaned in closer, his words warm against my ear, “need comfort. Need connection.”
My mind screamed that this was dangerous, but my body had a different agenda, leaning into him, drawn to him. “This isn’t right,” I said. “I shouldn’t be... feeling this.” Heat, forbidden yet pleasurable, flooded between my legs.
“You’re doing so well,” he whispered. “You’re such a good girl, Evelyn.”
I bit my lip, my eyes welling with tears. He was right. I had always been the good girl, the perfect one. But at that moment, in the dimly lit office, I didn’t want to be perfect anymore. I wanted to feel.
“You’ve never done this before, have you?” he asked, his voice gentle but charged with something dangerous.
I shook my head, lips trembling, body fizzing with need. “No.”
“You don’t have to be afraid,” he said. “I’ll guide you.”
Fear, desire, and shame swirled within me, a heady mix that made me dizzy.
“Just let go,” he said. “You’ve been strong for so long. Let me take care of you.”
“I don’t know how,” I said, hating the desperation in my voice.
“Yes, you do,” he said. “You’re already doing it. You’re perfect, Evelyn.”
Just as I slipped into the warmth of his words, a sharp, searing pain erupted on my forehead, tearing me from the dream. I gasped and bolted upright in bed, clutching my head as the raw burn beneath my bandage flared like it was on fire.
Disoriented and trembling, I looked around my dark room, my heart racing as I tried to process what had just happened. Tears streaked my face as I pressed my hands to my mouth, my sobs muffled by the oppressive silence.
The memory of the dream clung to me, vivid and undeniable. Father Hudson’s words, his touch, had been so real. Shame drowned me.
“What is wrong with me?” I said into the darkness. “Why am I like this?”
I fumbled for the lamp switch with shaking fingers and winced as light flooded the room, casting eerie shadows across the walls. My reflection in the mirror mocked me—face pale and drawn, clothes rumpled, the white bandage on my forehead a glaring reminder of my situation.
Exhaustion eventually claimed me again, but my sleep was restless, haunted by shadows of the disturbing dream that had been far too real to simply dismiss. Father Hudson’s intimate words and touch replayed in my mind, filling me with a confusing mix of shame, fear and some other unidentifiable feeling I was afraid to examine too closely.
As dawn approached, I tossed and turned, desperate to escape the unsettling visions but helpless to fight the pull of slumber. In the cold light of morning, I would have to face the reality of these unholy thoughts and feelings plaguing me. But for now, all I could do was pray for deliverance as the night terrors continued their relentless assault on my troubled mind.