Free Phantom by Susan Kay Page A

seize the clock from the mantelpiece and smash it in the hearth. And then, to my absolute horror, he picked up the coal tongs and lashed out at the priest, shrieking terrible obscenities, words I did not even think he knew. When I tried to get between them, the tongs caught me with full force on my shoulder, slicing clean through the velvet into the flesh.
    The priest dragged me back, out of the range of the wildly flailing weapon which was hacking indiscriminately at everything in its path.
    "My God!" I breathed. "He will wreck the entire room! Let me stop him—"
    Father Mansart's answer was to pull me through the door, shutting it hastily behind him. A savage barrage of blows struck the panels in our wake and the door began to splinter. But as I caught at the handle, the priest snatched my hand away.
    "You must not approach him… he does not know you."
    I stared at him in disbelief. The sounds of frenzied destruction continued in the room beyond and the priest's face was deathly pale, his lips set in a gray line of pain and grief.
    "I have failed," he muttered wearily. "I have failed him and I have failed God."
    "I don't understand you," I gasped. "Are you telling me he is mad?"
    The priest shook his head grimly. "This is not madness, child—this is possession! If you go to him now I think he will kill you. We must wait until whatever demon now has him in its grip grows tired of its sport and departs."
    I looked at the blood soaking steadily into my sleeve. "Will—will it happen again?" I stammered uncertainly.
    The priest sighed. "Once a suitable host presents itself to the forces of darkness…" he spread his hands in a helpless gesture, before continuing.
    "Tomorrow I will perform a ceremony of exorcism," he said unhappily.
    Exorcism…
    Blackness closed in around me and Father Mansart caught me as I swayed.
     
    "Exorcism!" said Etienne, in disgust. "That priest is a stupid meddler who properly belongs in the Middle Ages. This is not a case for the Church, but for a medical institution."
    "An asylum," I muttered. "You mean an asylum for the insane!"
    Etienne sighed. "I wish you would not resort to such emotive terms. The child appears to suffer from a degree of mental disturbance, which under the circumstances is really no more than what I would expect to find. There are few things more hazardous to the equilibrium of the human mind than the freakish genius you have described to me." He placed one hand upon my arm before adding quietly, "My darling, you really must begin to give serious thought to the question of an institution."
    "But… they are terrible places, are they not? One hears such dreadful tales of cruelty."
    "By no means," replied Etienne calmly. "Some are better than others, I won't deny that, but I happen to know of an excellent place where he could be kept out of harm's way. He could have his books and his music… he'd be quite happy… or at least as happy as he's ever likely to be on this earth."
    Etienne leaned back on the riverbank and watched the Seine flow past through half-closed eyes. He had a brisk, uncompromising manner of dealing with emotion, a manner that negated both passion and sentiment. His boundless optimism was capable of cloaking the most unpleasant proposals in a respectable, acceptable garb. A quick decision, a signature upon the committal papers, and all my problems would be over. He made it sound so easy and so right.
    Leaning over, he pressed me back against the tussocky grass, and I was glad to surrender to his insistent lips. It meant that I did not have to think, to argue with myself. For a few blissful moments there was only physical delight and spiritual release and I pulled him closer, fearing the moment when he would draw away.
    Ten years ago, I do not believe that I would have loved him, for ten years ago I could not have borne to be told what to think and what to do in such a cavalier fashion. Now there was nothing I wanted so much as to be safely locked in his arms