Chapter 18

 

I walked into the judge’s chambers, closely followed by my stepfather’s lawyer, as well as Matt and Father Patrick. The room was far bigger than I would have expected, with a large wood desk and bookshelves to the right and a good-sized table to the left. The desk was neat, but clearly a place for work with papers in trays and a book open on the surface. The state flag and the United States flag stood behind it.

The judge sat at the far end of a long wooden table, with the bailiff for the court standing behind him, and the district attorney seated to his right. The taller of the two policemen who had been involved in arresting me, Detective Samson, and the guard from the jail were also seated at the table. I suspected Samson was possessed, but I had to know for certain. I also questioned the guard’s allegiance.

How would I ever get close enough to touch one of them? If I just blurted it out, the judge would think I was nuts. For all I knew, he was possessed, too. I had to get close enough to touch all of these people. But how?

My stepfather’s lawyer, Geoffrey O’Neill, was a short man with slicked back blond hair. His pinstriped suit was slightly rumpled, as if he had been running from one meeting to another. He spoke briskly but authoritatively.

“Judge,” Mr. O’Neill said deferentially.

“Mr. O’Neill,” the judge acknowledged without standing up. He was a thin, ascetic man, balding on top. “I presume this is Miss Allyson Reynolds and Mr. Matthew Scott Blake?” He had a soft, restrained way of speaking, but a sharp nose, and he didn’t miss a thing.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Mr. O’Neill inclined his head. “And this is Father Patrick.”

Father Patrick stepped forward as if to shake the judge’s hand. The judge simply looked at his hand pointedly, so Father Patrick stepped back.

“Everyone be seated,” the judge said.

Curious.

We filed in the far side of the table with the lawyer closest to the judge then myself, and Matt. Father Patrick took up the end of the table opposite the judge. We all sat.

I noticed Samson, opposite me, wore no gun. Only the bailiff had his sidearm. That made me feel a little better. Maybe I could ‘accidentally’ touch Samson with my foot? But with my shoes and socks on, I didn’t think it would afford me much connection. Plus, from his behavior during my arrest, it seemed pretty definite he was possessed. I hoped Detective Darkov remained in control of her faculties and safe.

The guard was just as I remembered. Nothing screamed demon, but something about him made me uneasy. I just didn’t know if it had anything to do with demons or that I didn’t like how he had stared at me when I’d been in prison. Maybe he’d simply been a supporter of the mayoral candidate I’d hit with the car.

I put my hands on the table, and then it hit me. There was a current running through the table. It wasn’t incredibly strong, but the wood had once been alive and still held moisture. If each of them put a hand in contact with the table, I might be able to get enough of a reading to know whether they were demons.

Unfortunately, none of them were touching the table at the moment. The judge sat back with his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, his hands folded in front of him, across his belly. Consciously or unconsciously, Samson had mirrored him.

I would just have to be patient. One of them, or all of them, would at some point touch the table. They had to. Perhaps I could do something to draw them into touching the table and revealing themselves. If I baited them into an argument and leaned forward with my hands on the table, perhaps they would mirror me? Or maybe Mr. O’Neill could pass them a piece of paper across the table. The contact might be momentary, but if I were prepared for it, it would be enough.

I hoped such tactics wouldn’t be necessary.

“Miss Reynolds, I hope it goes without saying that you are in a great deal of trouble here,” the judge said as I turned to look at him. “As are you, Mr. Blake.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” we chorused in contrition.

I didn’t know how my stepfather’s lawyer had gotten him to talk to us in chambers. Maybe called in a favor? I looked over at the DA, a short man with overly long salt and pepper hair swept back from an olive complexion. He was another variable in the room, but I’d at least had the chance to shake his hand in his office before we came over. He was just a man, one dedicated to helping those who couldn’t help themselves.

The judge cleared his throat. “Okay, Mr. O’Neill, I agreed to this meeting so your clients would turn themselves in. Let’s get this over with. Give me one good reason why I should not throw the book at them. One may have committed vehicular manslaughter, and the other stands accused of breaking her out of jail.”

O’Neill looked over at me. He had been briefed on the reason for the meeting from our standpoint. I had proven to him, without a doubt, that we told the truth, by the simple expedient of Matt cutting his own arm then having me heal it before his eyes. He had agreed to it all, but now he looked a little green around the gills. He knew he had to stall as long as he could, but now he raised his eyebrows at me, as if to ask whether I had a read on who was a demon yet. I shook my head slightly.

O’Neill took a breath and turned to the judge. “Well, Your Honor, Miss Reynolds is a fine, upstanding figure in our community and has been for some time. She is a veterinarian who does animal rescue, specializing in raptors. She met Mr. Blake when he called to request her help with a case in New York at the prestigious Cornell University where Mr. Blake works in the ornithology lab. She had only recently returned from New York when the incident took place.”

The judge merely tilted his head and looked at Mr. O’Neill as if to ask why he should care.

O’Neill cleared his throat nervously and continued. “She had been quite concerned about a friend of hers who is in the hospital burn unit after a very serious car accident. In fact, she and Mr. Blake had just returned from visiting with the patient when this accident happened. Miss Reynolds contends she saw the victim and actually tried to avoid running into him, but he deliberately stepped into the path of her car.”

The DA cleared his throat, but did not actually say anything. The judge leaned forward with his forearms and folded hands on the table. “Which would make a fine argument in the courtroom, Mr. O’Neill, but does not explain Mr. Blake breaking her out of jail or Miss Reynolds running off with him, leaving the state, and the injuries to the guard who is not able to be with us today because he is in the hospital in a coma.”

Praying it would be enough, I gripped the edge of the table and concentrated, sending out my senses along the table. The surge made contact with the judge and bounced back at me. I gasped slightly and sat back. Matt touched my arm. I met his eyes and shook my head slightly. The judge was not one of them. He was completely in control of his own faculties and decisions. One down.

“A moment to confer with my client, Your Honor.” O’Neill leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Whatcha got?”

“The judge is clean, but there was no guard hurt when we left. He’s either one of them, or someone else hurt him. If I hadn’t seen Lula vanquished, I’d say she probably did it, but maybe one of the other guards?”

O’Neill nodded once and turned back to the judge. “Your Honor, my client does not deny she hit the deceased man with her car, just that there was no intent. However, she does assure me no guard was hurt when they left the jail and denies any responsibility for that circumstance.”

“Well, unfortunately, that does little to reassure me,” the judge said wryly. “Considering they were in the process of breaking her out of jail, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take her word for it.”

I looked across the table at the guard and Samson. I had to get them to connect with the table. How would I deal with them once I had identified them? I had a feeling if I went over the table at anyone, the bailiff would have his gun out in no time. The question was, would he shoot? There were a lot of people in the room. Of course, not having any contact with him, I had no way of being sure he wasn’t one of them, too. I would have to take my chances.

I stared at the guard until he met my gaze, then leaned forward and put my hands on the table. “I know it was you,” I accused, narrowing my eyes.

He smirked.

“I know it was you,” I repeated, this time jumping up and leaning into the table with my hands.

“Miss Reynolds, sit down, or I will hold you in contempt,” the judge ordered.

The bailiff had started forward, but the guard from the jail did exactly what I had hoped, he stood up and leaned forward, mimicking my posture. “I didn’t do anything.”

Samson put a hand on the table as well, pushing himself away.

I reached out with my senses and surged forward. The returning pulse took me a moment to process, then I knew. “Both of them.”

Shoving my chair back, I scrambled up onto the table then across it. I knew without looking that Matt followed me. We didn’t have any weapons on us, but I didn’t need any. I had two hands. The bailiff was fast, but we were faster. The DA backpedaled to stay out of the way, further impeding the bailiff.

I leapt from the table onto the guard, reaching out for his face, and made contact. There was nothing of the human left in this one. He started shrieking as smoke poured from under my palms. Matt got a hold of Samson and took him down to the ground. I glanced back to gauge the threat from the bailiff and saw Mr. O’Neill doing a good job of entangling himself. The guard screamed and tried to head butt me. He connected, but I held on even as my skull reverberated. I heard Father Patrick to my left, saying the words for the casting out of demons.

“Order! I want order restored to my chambers,” the judge yelled.

“Sir, for your own safety, please stand back,” Mr. O’Neill said, deferential and yet forceful.

I glanced over as I winced from the impact of the guard’s head on mine again and saw the DA watching in horror.

A cool, refreshing rain of water fell on me, but the guard only shrieked louder as the good father blessed us. Then the guard finally went limp.

I let go of the guard and turned my attention to Samson. Matt was restraining him. “Relinquish that body.”

The demon just grinned, and his eyes rolled back. I watched sadly as Samson went with the demon. “Oh no, angelic one, I’ll be taking him with me back to hell, he’s no innocent…”

There was nothing I could do about it if the demon had the right to drag him into the fire for his sins. Except… I could try to heal him. I could end up killing him too. If he’d help, maybe I could save him, or at least save his soul.

“Detective Samson, you can still be forgiven. You once took an oath to uphold the law and protect the innocent. Push the demon out, ask for forgiveness.”

I saw a struggle begin on his face, as if two people were inside the same body, each taking control in turns. It looked as if he were being strangled. “Help me,” he managed to gasp out.

That was what I wanted to hear.

I leaned down and placed a hand on his forehead, closed my eyes, and pushed the energy through my hands, picturing the demon being pushed out of the man’s body. The demon and the man both screamed in a two-tone note that defied description as Father Patrick repeated the prayers again in a stream that ran on and on. Then the resistance simply vanished, and the energy came flooding back to me. I dropped to the ground.

Matt let Samson fall and grabbed for me. “Ally. Are you okay?”

I looked at him and grinned. “Woohoo!”

He grinned in return.

I turned to check on Samson. His breath came hard and fast, but his eyes were open, and he looked a little dazed. He focused on me. “Thank you, thank you.”

“What the hell?” the judge said.

Father Patrick wiped his brow. “Yes, precisely.”

I hadn’t noticed when the judge and bailiff had stopped trying to intercede. Perhaps it had been when the demon voice had come out of Samson’s mouth. Now the judge regained his composure, standing at the end of the table. “I demand an explanation for these antics, immediately.”

Matt and I each took one of Samson’s arms and helped him to his feet. “I think I should be the one to explain, Your Honor,” the detective said.

“Then do it fast.” The judge craned his neck, looking past us at the guard on the floor. “Should we call an ambulance for him?”

I looked at Matt. “That might be for the best. We can explain it as some sort of accident, but the guard is dead.” I felt a twinge as I said it. It felt like a personal failure that I hadn’t been able to save him, though I knew logically, it simply wasn’t so.

Sensing the direction of my thoughts once again, Matt took my hand. “He was already gone.”

“Bailiff, call for an ambulance,” the judge directed, then he looked back at us. “Start talking, fast.”

“Your Honor,” Detective Samson began, “I was possessed by a demon just over a week ago.”

The judge looked at him steadily but didn’t say anything. He sat down. “Go on.”

“From what I was able to understand during that time, Ms. Reynolds was the focus of his being here, to somehow take her into captivity or destroy her outright.”

It took a while to explain things to the judge’s satisfaction, but between Samson’s testimony and Father Patrick as well as the testimony of his own eyes, he finally accepted what had happened. When the ambulance arrived, the guard was pronounced dead on arrival due to an accidental electrocution. A frayed cord to an ancient air conditioning unit in the window was blamed.

“No one is to speak of what occurred here today,” the judge said. “The records are to be sealed.”

“No one would believe us anyway,” the DA said, speaking for the first time.