By the time the van from St. Joan of Arc Church got to the island, Smalls’ pant legs were dry, and the salt from the gulf’s water clung to the skin beneath. He raked his fingers over his ankles as the interning priest from the parish drove down the wide lanes of Rangeline Road north toward the city. The trail from his nails formed white lines down his leg. The priest who drove had said nothing since picking him up from the island. Archbishop Harrington hadn’t sounded very happy when Smalls told him that he’d been dumped on Dauphin Island, but he also didn’t ask any questions. The archbishop simply said that he would send a van for him.
“Where are we going?” Smalls felt he needed to know. If he was going to see Harrington, he needed to get his story in line to make sure he detailed everything.
“Archbishop Harrington wants to see you,” the priest said. His voice was flat but had tinges of French to it.
Looking at him, Smalls thought he was probably French Canadian. “Are we going to St. Mary’s-by-the-Bay?”
“He wants to see you at St. Joan of Arc.”
“Why?”
“Ours is not to reason why. Ours is but to do and die.”
The words rattled around in the older priest’s head for a moment. Then they sank like lead to his feet, pulling his guts down with them. Paranoid thoughts began to turn over and over. He only got a blurry half-dazed look at the van that stranded him on the island. Although this priest was not one of the large men who assaulted him and Cybil at Ashe’s house, he could just as easily be part of the whole thing. Smalls licked his lips. The van had just gone through a series of red lights at Tillman’s Corner near the Walmart. They were turning to head down Government Street. Enough traffic lights stretched down this street that bailing out would be easy and might not cause much injury. He slid to the end of the bench seat close to the sliding door.
“What do you mean?” Smalls slipped his hand under the door handle.
“I always say that when I don’t know why I’m supposed to do something. It is from a poem by Tennyson,” the priest answered.
“I’m familiar with the poem. It just seemed like a strange response to an easy question,” Smalls said. “You have to understand that I’ve had a stressful day, so talking about dying doesn’t sit well with me. By chance you wouldn’t happen to know what happened to my friends, would you?”
“I don’t know anything, Father Smalls, except that I was supposed to pick you up from a gas station. They didn’t even tell me why you were there.”
“Kidnapped.”
“You should have called the police.”
“I did. They took my story down but wouldn’t bring me back. Probably because I just got out of jail.”
The priest turned around to look at him, disregarding the traffic down the busy street. “What?”
“I was falsely accused of murder and rape,” Smalls said. “Please watch the road.”
The younger priest turned back to driving. “They did know you were a priest, right?”
“Yes, but I looked like the suspect they had caught on one of the street cameras downtown. When it comes to the law, it doesn’t matter what profession you are.”
“Is that why someone kidnapped you?”
“I don’t know. I just know someone wants me and my friends out of the way. So maybe now you can see how your quote from Tennyson was bothersome.”
“I’m sorry.”
The younger priest said nothing else. They drove down Government Street past the old motels that would have been nice during Mobile’s heyday, but had grown old and sketchy as the years passed. The neighborhood St. Joan of Arc Church was in was much the same as those no-tell motels: it had known better years. The van stopped, and the young priest looked back at Smalls.
“I’m supposed to let you out here,” he said.
Smalls looked out the window toward the church. Light from the open church door haloed Archbishop Harrington. He opened the van door and climbed out. The driver gave just enough time for the door to close then pulled away. The archbishop stepped down the stairs from the door to the sidewalk. Smalls walked toward him.
“It’s good to see you, Father Smalls.”
“It’s good to be here, I suppose.”
The two priests met in the middle of the sidewalk. Smalls tried to enter the building, but the other took him by the arm and led him into the yard of the church.
“I don’t really want to talk inside,” Harrington said. “Out here I’m sure that we will not be heard.”
“Has the church been compromised?”
“You know that we must always leave the doors open to those who wish to enter. I just feel safer here.”
They stopped under an old live oak tree. Tendrils of Spanish moss hung from the limbs and blew in the breeze. The sky through the limbs looked brown under the lights of the city. The air smelled like a mixture of diesel exhaust and brackish water. It was an unsettling perfume.
“What’s happening?” Smalls asked.
“I’m not sure, but it seems that the powers of evil have descended on this city, and for some reason have chosen to come after you and your friends.”
“Why us?”
“I thought maybe you would know. You have looked these people in the eye if they kidnapped you. Didn’t they talk on the way to the island?”
“They knocked me out. The last thing I remember there was a huge man in Ashe’s living room. He looked unreal like a living corpse, not a zombie like in movies, but his eyes weren’t right.”
“I believe it may be demons possessing people,” Harrington said. “That book you had Dr. Shrove looking for has been stolen with a few other volumes of your heretical texts.”
“How could they steal them from the basement of St. Mary’s? Surely demons cannot cross over into a church.”
Harrington leaned against the tree. His hair blew in the breeze and blended in with the swaying moss. He rubbed his face. Smalls heard the scratching sound of a stubble beard. In the low light around the church, he’d only been able to make out the grosser details of the archbishop’s face.
“One of the books you sent Dr. Shrove for talked about possession. It postulated that demons cannot possess humans since the death of the last disciples who were given the miracle of casting out demons.”
Smalls nodded his agreement. He’d wanted that book more than any other. “I needed that one the most. I almost have my finger on something, but needed to reread it.”
“It said that demons cannot possess people because they cannot handle humans’ past memories. Once they enter, they stay only until they are so overwhelmed by memories that they must flee or perish.” The archbishop looked at Smalls. The priest tried to hide any emotion from his face but knew he must look amazed that the other had read the text. “I wanted to see why the book was considered blasphemous.”
“I remembered that, but if you remember when I talked to you the first time about Ashe we discussed that his fiancée supposedly rose from the dead and walked out of University Hospital’s morgue. Maybe the demons have possessed the dead,” Smalls said.
“Only Christ is the king of dead,” Archbishop Harrington said. “Satan cannot rule over a dead body, and that book postulates it is because demons must have emotions to exist.”
“Dead people don’t have emotions,” Smalls said as if he’d suddenly been given this as an epiphany.
“I do not know what is going to happen, but I’m not sure we can resist it. Ash Wednesday is upon us, and I fear that something bad is going to happen before it gets here. The Devil is the strongest during this period of temptation.”
“What happened to Ashe and Cybil?”
“Dr. Shrove’s house burned to the ground. There was no sign of Cybil or him there, so I don’t know.”
Smalls crossed himself then rubbed the edges of his forehead. His eyes burned with tears for his friends. Both men stood a long time in silence. The cool February air whipped around them with every breeze.
“What now?” Smalls asked.
“I want you to stay here at the church. The monsignor has made provisions for you in one of the classrooms.” The archbishop reached into his pocket and brought out a cell phone. He handed it to Smalls. “I assumed that yours has been lost or destroyed.”
“That would be correct.”
“I made arrangements for this one to have your old number, just in case Cybil or Dr. Shrove try to contact you. Be safe, Father Smalls.”
Archbishop Harrington patted Smalls on the shoulder and walked off. Smalls stood under the tree a little bit longer. The wind chilled his skin, but the thought of Ashe and Cybil being at whereabouts unknown chilled him to the bone.
Traffic Camera: Intersection of St. Ann and Government Streets, Mobile, AL, 9:34 p.m. CST
A black Lincoln Continental idles behind a white van with the windows covered over from the inside by canvas material. The van’s right turn signal blinks, but the vehicle remains stopped. The Lincoln flashes its lights at the van. Three large men lumber from the back of the van. One steps in front of the car. Another hurries to the rear passenger side. The Lincoln lurches and tries to shift to the left to get around the van. The third man runs to driver’s door and tries to open it. When he fails, he rams his elbow into the window, shattering it. A black-clad arm fights against the third man as he paws inside the car. The third man grabs hold of the driver’s arm and pulls him through the window. The driver falls to the road as the Continental rolls slowly into the rear of the van.
The third man stomps his foot down on the head of the driver until a pool of dark blood forms around the head. As this happens, the second man pulls the rear door open. He drags Archbishop Harrington from the vehicle. The first man helps the second to secure the archbishop. They carry him back to the van. The third man finishes crushing the driver’s head into the pavement then joins the other men. The van turns right onto Government Street. The Lincoln rolls through the intersection leaving the dead driver bleeding on Ann Street.