Free Exorcist Road by Jonathan Janz Page A

Casey’s body. Blood flow seemed to have ceased utterly to his hands and feet, which were now bleached of color.
    Panting, my hands planted on my knees, I managed to say, “Hospital. We have to get him to a hospital.”
    “He’ll be dead by then,” Sutherland said. “His only hope is our intervention.”
    Don’t you mean God’s? I thought but did not say. I could scarcely say anything, so great was my horror.
    Sutherland seized me by the back of the shirt. With an effortless tug, he straightened my bent back and jerked me closer so that our noses almost touched. “It is an illusion meant to break our will.”
    I glanced at the ruins of Casey’s knees, the spatters of blood and the molted flesh. These were no illusions.
    As if reading my thoughts, Sutherland shook me, spoke directly into my face. “I have witnessed these marvels before, Jason. They seem real. Our senses accept the deceit completely. Until the trance is shattered and the truth is revealed.”
    My eyes again drifted to the macabre vision on the bed, but Sutherland dropped his Bible and grabbed me roughly by the chin. “Look at his wrists—you can’t deny they are healing! Look at his fingertips. They are covered over with flesh. You are deceived by its wiles, Jason. Have you learned nothing in our years together?”
    This finally broke through the veil of terror that had been suffocating me. I didn’t totally believe his claims that the gruesome scene on the bed was chimerical, but I did have faith in Father Sutherland’s wisdom. I nodded, licked my lips, and said, “Deliver us, O Lord.”
    Sutherland retrieved his Bible. “From lightning, thunder and tempest.”
    “Deliver us, O Lord.”
    What was left of Casey’s knees began to emerge from the bed.
    “From famine, pestilence and war.”
    “Deliver us, O Lord.”
    Before my eyes, the flesh seemed to knit, the rills of blood that sluiced from the wounds diminishing to narrow trickles.
    “From everlasting death.”
    “Deliver us, O Lord.”
    Sutherland’s voice swelled with greater authority, “By the mystery of your holy strength.”
    “Deliver us, O Lord.”
    “By your presence.”
    “Deliver us, O Lord,” I said, and the tremor in my voice was no longer audible.
    “By your birth and baptism.”
    Casey’s legs were whole again, the only sign of damage the blood darkening the bed around his knees.
    “Deliver us, O Lord.”
    And now even the look of lunatic sadism had vanished from Casey’s face and had been replaced by a drowsy expression, one I was certain Liz would recognize. Casey looked like a child ready to drift off to sleep.
    Together, Father Sutherland and I finished our rites, and by the end, Casey appeared to be dozing tranquilly. The older priest placed a hand on my arm and led me away from the bed.
    “I’m sorry for losing faith, Father,” I said.
    He didn’t acknowledge my words, instead kept his eyes trained on Casey’s slumbering form. “I need to check the boy’s heart rate,” he said in an undertone. “I don’t want to rouse the presence, but I must make certain Casey is out of danger before we leave the room.”
    “Maybe if we sedate him…”
    He shook his head emphatically. “Precisely why I want to avoid doctors and paramedics, Father Crowder. The first thing they’ll do is administer a sedative, and that might prove disastrous.”
    I thought of the boy’s knees. It hadn’t been a vision, I knew, but rather an incredible act of violence followed by some inexplicable regeneration. But it had happened, of that I was sure. “Father Sutherland,” I said, “if you’re worried about his heart—”
    “Only one of them lived.”
    I stared at him, uncomprehending.
    “I lied to the Hartmans, Jason. I’m not proud of it, but it was necessary to gain permission for the exorcism.”
    I frowned and opened my mouth to speak, but he went on briskly.
    “The exorcism in which I was the lead priest, that one was successful. The one on which I assisted