CHAPTER FORTY
It was midnight. The witching hour. Luke stood in the moldy, crumbling foyer of the abandoned chapel, his flashlight the only illumination in the room. Dressed in the long white robe with the gold band down the front he had worn before, he carried the same Bible in one hand, same rosary beads in the other, wore the same large crucifix on a chain around his neck.
Beneath his robe, inside his white shirt, the St. Michael’s medallion rode against his chest, the Archangel Michael, the protector of good against evil.
Luke drew in a deep breath. Soon he would cross the threshold into the dilapidated chapel itself and stand in the light he had set up in the middle of the aisle. In the confrontation ahead, he wanted his enemy to see him. To know he was unafraid, that God was standing with him as he fought against the Satanic evil oozing from the walls of the church.
Ran believed Luke would be coming to the asylum in the morning. Luke had considered waiting. Day versus night, light against dark, good against evil. But he was afraid the demon wouldn’t show itself. It gathered strength from the darkness, spread its tena-cles, grew in power.
The orphan boys had been freed from the demon’s control. At the victory Ran’s team had won, Luke had watched the entity’s vicious anger swell into a blinding rage. Guided by the hand of God, Luke would be facing that rage tonight.
He hadn’t told King his change of plans. Better to face the demon’s wrath alone than to risk the lives of others.
Luke opened the heavy wooden door, stepped into the chapel, and turned on the battery-powered light in the middle of the aisle. Earlier in the afternoon, he had come to the chapel to make preparations. The sun had been out, shining in through the broken stained-glass window as he anointed the walls with holy oil in the shape of a cross. A total of sixteen crosses.
Luke had repeated the Epiphany Blessing of the Threshold, asking that peace and grace surround the doorways and all who passed through them. He had heard faint rumblings and what might have been hissing sounds but had seen no sign of the entity he hunted.
Now, as he stood in the light in the center of the aisle, it was time to begin. Luke made the sign of the cross. He had recovered his strength and the energy he needed to do spiritual battle. He would start as he always did, with the Litany of the Saints in Latin.
Luke began speaking, his voice resonant, echoing off the stone walls of the chapel. “ ‘Kyrie, eleison. Christe, eleison. Kyrie, eleison. Christe, audi nos. Christe, exaudi nos. Pater de caelis, Deus. Miserere nobis. Fili, Remptor mundi, Deus. Miserere nobis. Spiritus sancte Deus. Miserere nobis. Sancta Trinitas, unus Deus. Miserere nobis. Sancta Maria. Oro pro nobis.’ ”
Completing the litany took fifteen minutes. Luke repeated the words in English.
“ ‘Lord, have mercy on us. Christ, have mercy on us. Lord, have mercy on us. Christ, hear us, Christ, graciously hear us. God the Father of heaven, Have mercy on us. God, the Son, Redeemer of the world, Have mercy on us. God, the Holy Spirit, Have mercy on us. Holy Trinity, One God, Have mercy on us. Holy Maria. Pray for us.’ ”
The litany was long and tiring, but Luke didn’t hurry. He was prepared for the length of the full exorcism. It could take hours, even days.
He focused on the altar, the ornately carved wooden table tipped over and decaying. He began reading from the Gospel of John, reminding the demon that he was a creature created by the Word of God, but he was not God, and he was not in charge.
“ ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. . . . All things were made by Him, and without Him nothing was made. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in the darkness.’ ” He continued reading, though the air in the chapel began to feel thick and heavy.
A roar began, the rush of the wind, though there was no wind inside or out. Luke kept on praying, reading from Scripture, repeating the Lord’s Prayer over and over, in Latin and in English. Time spun out. Hours passed. It seemed there was no beginning and there was no end.
He started over, repeating the Litany of the Saints in Latin, then English. The growling and hissing continued to build. Luke didn’t stop, his voice stronger now, more demanding.
“I command thee, unclean spirit, whoever thou art, along with all thy associates who have taken possession of this house of God, that by the mysteries of the Incarnation, of the Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, thou shalt tell me thy name and prepare for the hour of your departure.”
A bolt of lightning hit the altar, setting it aflame. The altar exploded into a thousand pieces, sending fragments of burning wood all over the chapel.
Get! Out! A voice, guttural and harsh. The voice of the devil, Luke thought, and kept going.
“In the name of God, I cast thee out, unclean spirit, along with the wicked enemy, Satan, and every phantom and diabolical legion. In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, depart and vanish from this house of God and all of its surroundings.”
The building shuddered. The howl of the wind was so fierce, a headache began to form behind his eyes. In front of him, black blobs oozed across the floor and crawled across the ceiling.
“Pay heed, Satan, you foe of the human race, you carrier of death, you robber of life. Thou are the root of all evil, the fomenter of vice, the seducer of men, the traitor of nations, the instigator of envy, the font of avarice, the source of discord, the exciter of sorrows. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, I command you to leave this place!”
At the front of the chapel, a tornado of fire appeared and began to spin, flames licking outward like the branches of a tree. It whirled across the stone floor, then began slowly moving up the aisle in his direction. Luke could feel the heat of the fire intensifying as it came closer.
He took a deep breath and collected his strength. He had no idea how many hours had passed. Through the jagged hole in the stained-glass window, he could see the faint gray light of dawn.
“St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in this battle, be our protector against the wickedness and snares of the devil. Great Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all of the evil spirits who prowl this place.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Ran take a seat in the pew closest to where Luke stood. Luke closed his eyes, praying he would be able to keep both of them safe.
The whirling fire crept slowly toward them. Luke flicked a glance at Ran, a shadowy figure at the edge of the light. His jaw looked hard, his eyes a dark indigo blue. Luke could read his friend’s resolve, the determination that matched Luke’s own.
“Archangel Michael, Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl the world seeking the ruin of souls.”
The fire had almost reached them, a single, sweltering spot of heat in the icy interior of the chapel.
An image appeared in Luke’s mind. A huge, winged warrior surrounded by a pure-white aura, his face beautiful, his head wreathed in gleaming blond curls. Giant wings spread, he hovered in front of the stained-glass window, more than seven feet tall, wearing the armor of God, a massive broadsword in one big hand.
The spinning fire whirled toward him, morphed into a humanlike creature with demonic features. A hideous scream rent the air, and a lightning bolt of fire flew toward the angel.
The angel’s power seemed to swell. His great sword arched down, flashing, magnificent, cleanly severing the head of the demon, which flew into the air and disappeared. The Archangel became a flash of blinding light and disappeared as well. The only thing that remained was a vague white form in the outline of a man that also disappeared.
Luke stared at the place the Archangel had been. The fires of hell versus the sword of God. A beam of sunlight shone through the hole in the stained-glass window, illuminating the darkness inside the chapel.
Luke’s knees gave way at the same instant he felt Ran’s shoulder beneath his, propping him up. Another shoulder was wedged beneath his other arm. Luke looked over to see Jesse’s smiling face.
They started up the aisle together. By the time the three of them had made it through the doors into the foyer of the chapel, Luke had regained some of his strength.
“I’m all right,” he said, easing away from his friends, surprised to see Eve and Zane both standing in the foyer, where they had been watching.
“It’s over,” Luke said. “It’s finished.”
Eve rushed to Ran, who pulled her into his arms. The two of them clung to each other.
Jesse looked at Luke. “I don’t understand what happened. One minute it looked like the fire was going to incinerate everything in its path—including you. The next minute the fire was moving away; then it was gone and the sun was shining into the chapel.”
Luke frowned. “That’s all you saw?”
“That’s it,” Jesse said.
He turned. “What about the rest of you? Ran?”
“I heard a terrible scream. Like something out of the depths of hell. Then the fire disappeared.”
“I heard that, too,” Jesse said.
“Me too,” said Zane.
Luke turned to Eve, still in the circle of Ran’s arms. “You have the gift, Eve. What did you see?”
“I don’t know. It was all so confusing. Whatever happened, I don’t feel the presence of either of the spirits who were in my house.”
“The death of the evil one freed the other,” Luke said. “God will deal with him.”
No one made a comment.
“Let’s get out of here,” Luke said wearily.
“Good idea,” Ran agreed. Together they walked back through the asylum, out the wooden door through which they had entered. A bright sun shone down from a cloudless sky.
“I drove over in the BMW,” Ran said. “I’ll drive us back to the hotel.”
Ran said nothing to Eve on the way to the car. But Luke noticed he didn’t let go of her hand.