Free Gypsy of Spirits: Prequel to So Fell the Sparrow by Katie Jennings Page B

on, my father raised me to be the model of Catholic perfection. Of course, his idea of perfection did not include speaking to the dead. Or, as he believed, speaking to demons.”
    Rachel’s hands tightened in her lap. “Demons?”
    “They exist, though at the time I was not in contact with any,” Jackie explained, shrugging. “I was simply a child delighted with a gift that in my eyes was bestowed upon me by God.”
    “Did you try and hide it from your father?”
    Jackie laughed, though it held little humor. “I should have, but no. I was too curious, too naïve. It wasn’t until he pulled his belt on me one evening after catching me talking to Henry that I considered ignoring my gift. But even after the beating, I couldn’t resist. The dead continued to call me for help, for guidance. I suppose I wasn’t strong enough to say no to them. Over the years my gift grew stronger, and with each additional beating my father grew more and more aggravated that I wasn’t getting better. He started locking me in my room, keeping me away from outsiders. He was ashamed and frightened of me. He reached out to our priest for guidance, suggesting an exorcism. Fortunately for me, the priest evaluated my case and determined there was no evidence of demonic possession. He refused to perform the exorcism.”
    “That’s good.”
    An old, familiar pain hit Jackie’s heart. “It was. But unfortunately for me, my father decided to attempt the exorcism himself.”
    Rachel’s face went slack with horror. “That’s awful.”
    “Exorcisms can’t be performed by just anyone. You have to be a priest and have permission from the church itself. My father was just a tailor with no experience in rituals as damaging as an exorcism.”
    The memories flooded back, blindingly hot and real. She saw herself as she had been at thirteen, wild dark hair and slender, coltish body. She’d been tied to a chair in the basement, her hands bound behind her back by twine with more of it wrapped around her chest, pinning her arms to her sides. Her legs had kicked helplessly until he bound those too.
    She remembered pleading with him, begging him to leave her alone. His face had flushed red with indignation, with hate. He’d crossed her forehead, then himself, angry tears in his eyes.
    Be gone, devil! he’d cried and splashed holy water on her face. He’d thrust the wooden cross of his beloved heirloom rosary before her, as if eager to see her flesh burn from the holy image.
    Except it hadn’t because she wasn’t possessed. Words could not convince him, leaving her helpless and at his mercy. Instead of showing compassion he only ramped up his efforts.
    In his right hand he’d clutched the Rite of Exorcism, a book filled with the prayers needed for the ritual. He’d read them off fervently, feverishly, nearly mad in his attempt to free her from the Devil. To free her from her gift.
    Therefore, I adjure you every unclean spirit, every specter from hell, every satanic power, in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, who was led into the desert after His baptism by John to vanquish you in your citadel, to cease your assaults against the creature whom He has formed from the slime of the earth for His own honor and glory…
    “What happened after?” Rachel asked, bringing Jackie back to the present.
    “He looked me in the eyes and asked me if I was myself again,” Jackie replied, remembering distinctly how there was more revulsion in his expression than concern.
    “What did you tell him?”
    “I said I had always been myself.” She wiped away a tear that fell down her cheek. “So he left me there and went to talk to the priest again. When the priest found out what he did, he rescued me from the basement and threatened to contact the police if my father attempted to harm me again.”
    “Did he?”
    Jackie brushed back a strand of hair that the wind had tossed into her face. “He kept his promise because he had to, but that didn’t stop him from